


When Make Believe Becomes Real

by Accident, Tindomerelhloni



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Sherlock Holmes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bonding, Case Fic, Developing Relationship, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Mpreg, Omega John, Omega Verse, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements, Role Play turned Fic, Sex, Smut, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-19 05:48:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 37,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29870094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accident/pseuds/Accident, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tindomerelhloni/pseuds/Tindomerelhloni
Summary: Invalided home John was in need of a flat share and someone who wouldn't ask questions about his secondary biology. Keeping up the rouse of a relationship may be harder than he thought....
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 46
Kudos: 100





	1. Meet me at 221B

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Here is Tindomerelhloni and my first rp! We decided to make it into a fic! Enjoy!!!
> 
> General PSA I'm going to be putting on all fics from now on:  
> There are all kinds of fics out there and if this one doesn't suit your tastes I have some advice!  
> Step 1: Don't like what you're reading? Stop reading and find something else!  
> Step 2: Can't find what you want to read? Write it yourself! Only you know exactly the content you want to consume so go ahead and try creating it yourself!
> 
> Thanks for reading this PSA <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Tindo!  
> Hi guys! Welcome to this fun little RP Accident and I are doing. Prepare for good old-fashioned Omega/Alpha smut, and lots of bossy John. I've made a few minor edits after our RP, mainly spelling and the such, and fixing a few areas I figured might need clarification. But mostly, you're getting it raw, as our brains spat it out mostly during the middle of the night for both of us. ;)
> 
> Hope you enjoy, and prepare yourself, this has about 45 pages on google docs so far, and we're not done   
> ( ͡^ ͜ʖ ͡^)

“John? John Watson?” Mike says from the park bench he’s sitting on. “It’s me. Mike Stamford, from Bart’s. I know, I got fat.” He chuckles.

"Yes, hello," John says automatically, without registering who Mike was. His mind had been elsewhere, worry dragging him down even as the sun shined around him. Oh, Mike!

Recognition flickered across his face. Making a vague comment about the weight gain, he stuck out his hand. "Been a while. Alright?"

“Same old same old. Working at Bart’s.” Mike smiles and shakes John’s hand. “Teaching bright young things like we used to be. God, I hate them.” He chuckles. “Last I heard you were off getting shot somewhere. What happened with that?”

"I got shot," John says tersely, his hand reflexively reaching for his leg, despite the wound being in his shoulder. “Just got back, though I can't afford London. Not on an Army pension."

“Couldn’t stand to be anywhere else,” Mike smirks and follows John to get a coffee and catch up.

"Mmm, Harry's no help either." Pursing his lips John feels his pocket for spare change, then passes a few coins over to a vendor selling coffee and tea to other park patrons. "Have you tried finding a flatshare? Impossible these days, not like in Uni."

“You’re the second person to say that to me today.” Mike takes a sip from his steaming cup.

"Second?" Glancing in surprise at his old friend John follows Mike's lead and takes a sip from his still too hot coffee, burning his mouth in the process. "Who else?"

Sherlock growls as he whips the corpse mercilessly, matching the speed, strength, and intensity as much as he could from the body at the crime scene. He looks up when the door opens, seeing Molly giving him that mousy wide-eyed stare.

Later Sherlock looks up when the lab door opens, seeing Mike Stamford come in with a man walking with a cane. “Fancier than when we were here.” Mike chuckles.

John mutters something that even he couldn't discern and gave Mike one of those polite smiles you give when you bump into someone you vaguely remember at the grocery store.

He scans the room, noticing how correct Mike's words were. Back in his day, Bart's had been able to boast having all the best equipment, and it seemed that hadn't changed over the years.  
However, halfway through his inspection, he saw a man hunched over one of the tables, a dropper full of clear liquid in one hand.  
"Is that him?" he wondered.

“Mike, can I borrow your phone? I can’t get a signal.” Sherlock says, looking Mike and the mystery man over.

Mike feels his pockets. “Sorry. Left it in my coat.”

"Uh, here, use mine?" John said, offering before his mind had time to catch up to his words.  
The man walked towards him, his full height evident as he slid off the stool.

He wasn't wearing a lab coat, or the tattier clothing favoured by broke med students. Instead, he was in a two-piece suit, the collar a crisp white shirt hugging his chin.

The collar hid the man's neck from John, but he didn't have to look to know there wouldn't be a bite there. The man was oozing alpha, from the way he walked to the arrogant set of his shoulders.

John gripped his cane tightly in his hand while holding out his mobile as the man approached.  
Mike, an Alpha? Seriously? John thought, glancing furiously over a Mike who just smiled at him.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” Sherlock asks as he types furiously.

"Afghanistan, wait how did you know?" John stared, mouth gaping open as the cold words hit him. It had been a common enough question in the army, soldiers sizing each other up, looking to see who had the better stories.

"How?" He repeated, once again glancing over to Mike, wondering if perhaps Mike had given Sherlock a heads up. Mike shakes his head and raises his hands to show his innocence.

“Everything about you screams military. The way you walk, talk and breathe. When you entered you surveyed the entire room but not to see what had changed but for threats. You may be overly cautious but your posture and hair cut give you away. Your face and hands are tanned but it’s less so under your cuffs and collar. Buttoned up tight somewhere with a lot of sun and military posturing. Mike made a comment that a lot has changed since your day so Military doctor then. Only two choices with sunny active military conflict, Afghanistan or Iraq.” Sherlock finishes sending his text and hands the phone back. He looks the man over, taking in the psychosomatic limp. Interesting

“If you’ll both excuse me I have to go down to the morgue, left my riding crop.” Sherlock pulls on his coat and heads for the door. “We’ll look at the flat tomorrow.”

"Look at the flat? I don't even know where it is, or anything about you? I can tell you're an Alpha, but nothing else."

John groaned as he glared daggers at Mike who smiles apologetically. "I don't even have your number."

“You know that I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t know what I was doing and that I wouldn’t observe everything about you without quite the impressive intellect. You need a flat and I have my eye on the place. Together we should be able to afford it. The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street. Good day.” Sherlock winks and he’s gone.

“Yeah. He’s always like that.” Mike chuckles.

"He's... intense." John sighs, scratching his eyebrow. "Bit off-kilter for an alpha to just take up lodging with someone, without... asking. Did you tell him?"

"Swear to god, I haven't said a word. That's yours to tell, not mine." Mike said as they walked out of the lab together.

"Right... ta."


	2. Staying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going to see the flat...

Sherlock pays the cabbie as it stops outside 221B the next day. “Afternoon.” He says as he gets out of the cab. “Found the place alright?”

"Mr. Holmes," John says, sticking out his hand in greeting. Inwardly he kicked himself. The omega in him knew that Alphas preferred it when Omegas didn't use first names, but John was no ordinary omega. He'd spent years tamping down his secondary biology and was not about to stop just because there was a tall, and admittedly gorgeous Alpha staring down at him.

“Please, call me Sherlock.” Sherlock shakes John’s hand, feeling the calluses from well-trained hands. “We’ll be pretending to be a couple after all.” He says as the door opens.

“Oh Sherlock! Come in!” Mrs. Hudson cooed and shuffled them inside.

"Wait wha-?" John manages to squeak out before his voice and confusion is drowned out by who he could only presume was the landlady.

Much to John's dismay, they were led up a flight of old wooden stairs. Sherlock bounded up the steps with ease, but John and the older lady both took their time, finding Sherlock already flitting about the cluttered lounge.

"This is quite nice," John says, looking around at the clutter, pointing his cane at the fireplace in particular. "Once we get some of this stuff removed."

“I... I can tidy.” Sherlock starts to clean up piles.

“Sherlock says you’re an army doctor. Thank you for your service. There’s two bedrooms if you’ll need it.” Mrs. Hudson smiles.

"Of course we'll be needing two bedrooms," John begins to say. A loud thud, Sherlock slamming a book down on a table, drew his attention to the Alpha. Sherlock glared at him, and it was only then that John remembered his words about pretending to be a couple.

"I uh, have terrible nightmares most nights. War, and all that."

Narrowing his eyes he watches as Sherlock returns to stacking books and piles of papers.  
What the hell is that about? Pretend to be a couple?

“Oh good. It’s much easier to rent to couples. Not having all kinds through the house all hours of the day and night.” Mrs. Hudson nods. “The constant coming and going between unbound Alphas is astonishing. My home is not a brothel.”

“Tea, Mrs. Hudson?” Sherlock asks as a diversion.

“Not your housekeeper, dear. Just this once.” Mrs. Hudson says as she heads to the kitchen.

Sherlock goes to John. “The listing is for a couple because she is not able to keep an eye on singles anymore. And they are more likely to be destructive to the property. She’s been considering having a hip replacement and I’d much rather be here to assist her without her fussing over it. So if you would please play along this arrangement is beneficial for both of us, John.” He whispers, his height looming over John, not in the usual overpowering aggressive alpha way but more of a protective shielding from everything else.

"You could have mentioned this earlier," John hissed though his words got caught in his throat when Sherlock whispered the monthly rent.

"I suppose I can try..." God, it was cheap. Cheaper than the bedsit he’d been assigned when he’d returned to London. Between his pension, and whatever it was Sherlock made, surely they could afford the flat, with more than enough to spare for food. It wasn't ideal, lodging with an alpha. But John had suppressants at his side and a lifetime worth of ignoring alphas.

“It won’t be that hard to pretend. I never bring anyone home and most people keep their distance from me anyway. We just live together. You get a cheap flat in central London and Mrs. Hudson lays off me to find a mate so I can focus on my Work.” Sherlock nods.

"And what work is that?" John began to ask, but he was interrupted by the landlady who poked her head into the sitting room.

Just until I'm on my feet. John tells himself, moving a stack of papers from the seat a plush armchair he plopped down hard. With a sigh, he stretches out his bad leg and watches as Sherlock continues to flutter about moving one stack of belongings to another location without really cleaning anything up.

“Milk and sugar, Dr. Watson?” Mrs. Hudson asks.

Outside a car pulls up as Sherlock watches out the window. The door downstairs opens and hurried footsteps on the stairs make their way into the room.

“Where?” Sherlock asks as a man enters the flat.

“Brixton, Lauriston Gardens.” The man says.

“What’s new? You wouldn’t come to get me if there wasn’t anything new.” Sherlock slips his hands into his trouser pockets.

“You know how they never leave notes? This one did.” The man says. “Will you come?”

“Not in a panda car. I’ll be right behind.” Sherlock nods and the man leaves.

Sherlock jumps around in glee. “It’s Christmas!”

John watches with mild confusion at the scene around him. The newcomer looked familiar, though he couldn't place where or how he would have seen the man. He'd only just arrived in London and hadn't been social.

Once they hear the door shut downstairs, Sherlock begins dashing about, muttering under his breath about "Anderson, I won't work with him."

"Make yourself at home, don't wait up," Sherlock says, twining his scarf around his neck then dashing down the stairs.

"Always dashing about. But you're more of the sitting down type," Mrs. Hudson says.

"Damn my leg!" John shouts, frustrated with his own limitations. There was something intoxicating in Sherlock's energy that made him want to follow after the Alpha and see what the commotion was about."

"Sorry... sorry," he mutters, though the landlady brushes it off and offers once again to make tea.

"Biscuits too, if you've got them," John calls after her, flicking a nearby newspaper open. There on the front page, beside a write-up of the serial suicides, is a picture of D.I. Lestrade, the same man who'd just been in the flat talking with Sherlock.

“You’re a doctor. An army doctor. Seen a lot of injuries? Violent deaths? Bit of trouble too I’d imagine.” Sherlock pushes himself off the doorframe and walks over to John. “Want to see some more?”

John stands, not enjoying the feeling of an Alpha he hardly knows looming over him. Sherlock had a few inches on him, but John knew how to make the most of his body.

Squaring his shoulders he forced himself not to step back when Sherlock encroached on his personal space.

"Enough for a lifetime," John replies, then adds, "Oh god, yes."

Sherlock smirks and sweeps out of the room, down the stairs.

"Sorry, Mrs. Hudson," John calls as he hobbles after the much faster man. "Off Out,"

That evening is the most fun John had in years. It was even better than his first night in Afghanistan, though not having the constant fear of being shot by insurgents might have had something to do with that.

The evening flashed by, a series of vibrant memories that would stay with John forever. It ended with Sherlock being driven to a college, by the killer. A Taxi driver, no less. His profession allows him to blend in to any crowd.

Following in a separate cab, John has Sherlock's wifi-enabled laptop on his lap, with his mobile pressed to his ear. Desperately trying to get through the series of bored police officers stuck behind a desk.

"DI Lestrade, PLEASE." John hisses, the urgency in his voice is evident. His heart felt like someone had gripped it with icy fingers.

Eventually, he gets patched through, and John's relieved the DI remembers him. He quickly explains the situation, ends the call, and reaches for the gun in his pocket. It's there, loaded, and ready to go. Not wanting to upset his cab driver, John leaves it where it is.

There are two buildings, both swathed in darkness with only a few lights on here and there by emergency exits. It's a 50/50 shot, and John hopes he's picked the right choice.

He isn't sure why he cares so much about this mad man, a stranger really. But there's something about the Alpha, perhaps just the promise of danger and adventure, that makes John want to hold the man close and never let him go.

John rushes through the empty hall, pushing open unlocked doors, shouting Sherlock's name. Urgency is the key here, not stealth. He chances to look out one of the windows overlooking the other building, the one he did not enter. And sees it.

Sees Sherlock. He's sat at a table, across from the cab driver. The distance is great enough that he can't read their lips, but he is able to see two vials laid out on the table and a gun in the cabbie's hands. John's heart all but stops beating in his chest, time freezes as Sherlock's name rips its way from his throat.

It's over before John has time to think about it. His gun is in his hands, he's used a nearby object to smash in the window. Taking a deep breath, he focuses, then pulls the trigger.

Sherlock rushes to the window as soon as the cabbie drops to see who the shooter was but there was no one to be seen. He goes back to the cabbie and presses his shoe to the man’s wound. “Who! Who is your patron!” He demanded.

With the cabbie’s dying breath he screams “Moriarty!”

Finally, when he MET and paramedics show up Sherlock is led out. “What is this? Why’ve I got this on me?” Sherlock tugs at the shock blanket around his shoulders.

“It’s for shock.” DI Lestrade answers.

“I’m not in shock.” Sherlock scowls.

“I know but some of the lads wanted to take pictures.” Lestrade chuckles. “So what can you tell me about the shooter?”

As Sherlock is rattling off his deductions he stops, seeing John standing across the police tape looking as normal and ordinary as could be bit Sherlock knew he was anything but.

“Ignore me. Ignore all that.” Sherlock says and stands.

“What?” Lestrade looks up from his boat road he’d been furiously writing in.

“You can’t believe a word I say right now. I’m in shock. See, I’ve got a blanket.” Sherlock heads to John.

“Where are you going? We still need a statement!” Lestrade scolds.

“I’ll bring him in myself tomorrow. But he needs a meal and sleep. He was kidnapped by a serial killer after all.” John quips.

“Only a fool argues with his doctor,” Sherlock says smoothly.

“Fine but both of you in my office first thing in the morning,” Lestrade says as he watches them walk off.

Sherlock holds the police tape for John to duck under.

The gesture is kind and puts a smile on John's face even as Sherlock begins questioning him about powder burns on his fingers.

John's head is still swimming from the compliment *Good Shot*

It had been a good shot, a bloody good shot.

He falls into step beside the giggling Alpha as they leave the scene of flashing lights behind them.

"Dinner?"

"Starving," John replies easily, though part of him wonders if that is the *Alpha* talking, or the Man, Sherlock Holmes. He isn't sure which he wants to be asking, but he has a sneaking suspicion it isn't the purely male side.


	3. A heated case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets a call about multiples alpha bodies and an omega in the center of it all....

Sherlock was shocked at how easy it was to fall into a routine with John. He was worried living with another person would be catastrophic to his thinking not to mention the work but John was different. John made his mind sharper, thinking faster, deductions brighter. He hadn’t felt this stable in years or as euphoric without the feeling of a needle piercing his flesh. This was different. He felt like he was soaring and falling all at once but it didn’t matter if John was there watching and praising his work.

Sherlock heard Mrs. Hudson’s footsteps come up to the flat and he rushed from the table to the couch where John was sitting. He lifted John’s laptop from his lap and replaced it with his head, putting John's hand in his hair. He closes his eyes just in time for Mrs. Hudson to walk in with the mail.

"Oi, I was using that." John grumped, hands still hovering in the air above where his keyboard had been. Instead, he found his fingers hovering directly over Sherlock's mop of curls. That’s right, we’re pretending to be a couple. This is what couples do.

Anxiety pierced through John at the contact. He was between suppressants. No longer able (allowed) to use the military-grade suppressants he had been on, he had to wait before swapping over to the generics from the chemists. He'd been careful, using special soaps aimed at hiding an Omega's scent, but with Sherlock this close, it was dangerous. Especially because he had no clue just how strong the Alpha's senses were.

With his own abilities repressed, John’s sense of smell had been reduced to that of a beta. Normal, and dull, unable to smell Alphas or pick out their unique scents. It would come back, eventually, if he stopped his suppressants, but this had been his life for as long as he could remember.

Two things would happen if Sherlock found out.

One: He would be forced into a bond, simply because Sherlock's Alpha brain would kick in, and demand that the unbound omega finally belong to someone

Two: Sherlock would kick him out for legal reasons. Alphas were not supposed to lodge with unbound Omegas unless they were already bound, and for one reason or another, their bound mate couldn’t produce children. Then, it was acceptable for an alpha to invite a second omega into their home, whose purpose would be to become a surrogate parent. (And quite often, more simply put a fuck toy.)

The thought of not being here, at baker street, made his heartache. In the months since moving in, he’d grown to enjoy the flat and the company.

“Morning, boys. Got your mail here.” Mrs. Hudson sets the mail on the table. “Aren’t you two the picture of domestic bliss?” She coos as she sees them.

“John’s proximity helps me think.” Sherlock mumbles, keeping up the ruse had been a bit of a struggle at first. But Sherlock had observed that John was settling into their arrangement which made things easier. He ignored how intoxicating it was to have John’s fingers in his hair.

“You two are just so precious. Much nicer than Mrs. Turner’s married ones I’ll tell you.” Mrs. Hudson nods.

"Uhh, thanks?" John says, wishing Sherlock's hair didn't feel oh so very soft beneath his fingers.

"Are her married ones... betas?" He asks, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. So far neither Sherlock or Mrs. Hudson had asked about his secondary biology, which had been a breath of fresh air, and he wondered if that was because he was in a mostly beta neighborhood.

Mrs. Hudson nods. “Mrs. Turner says they’re thinking of moving out. Want a bigger place to have a family. She says they keep her up all night, bed frame squeaking and all that.” She tsks. “I’m so lucky you boys are so considerate. Barely heard a peep out of you. You know I take my herbal soothers in the evenings so don’t let me be a hindrance.” She winks at John.

"Yes well, with the bedroom upstairs I imagine that helps keep things, erm, quiet." John offers while willing his traitorous fingers to stop moving. But they don't, so he sighs and gives into it, at least for as long as their landlady is upstairs.

I should tell him that I'm an Omega. Before his prat of a brother finds out. I was promised it was all locked away, but who knows how high his clearance goes.

Instead, he clears his throat and pats Sherlock on the shoulder.

"Scootch," he says, trying to make his voice sound sympathetic like a lover might. "Need the loo."

Sherlock sighs dramatically but obliges, letting John up.

Mrs. Hudson chats with Sherlock about her next doctor's appointment while he tries to convince her to get the hip transplant.

John didn't actually have to use the loo. But he couldn’t just sit there, petting Sherlock’s hair and pretending to be madly in love. He’d noticed, while Mrs. Hudson had been drabbling on about the neighbours, that a faint scent of leather had reached his nose. His senses trying to come back online while in between brands of suppressants. Between the scent and the feeling of Sherlock’s hair, he’d wanted to curl forward and bury his nose in the crook of Sherlock’s neck. The Alpha smelled amazing, intoxicating even.

He wanted to lean forward and bury his nose in the hollow below Sherlock's adam's apple. He wanted to glide his nose along that sharp jawline, and those tempting freckles dusting across pale skin.

"Get a grip, Watson," he scolds himself, gripping the sink and staring at his reflection. His cheeks are pink, and heat prickles down his spine and between his legs. "Good god, get a grip."

Bending down he fishes around below the sink for his medical kit. Buried below all the gauze, bandages, and ointment is a disposable packet of a special deodorizer for Omegas. In itself, not rare to find in a medical kit. Should a doctor come across a wounded Omega, it would be commonplace for the doctor to use one of these wipes on the major scent glands before administering medical aid.

Pulling a single cloth out of the pack, he put everything away and quickly set about wiping himself down, focusing on his neck, armpits, and groin before flushing the cloth.

Just have to hope that doesn't clog... he thought, watching as the ancient toilet fought to suck the cloth down. But certainly, Sherlock has thrown worse down this old thing,

Sherlock was in the kitchen pouring some viscous liquid into the kettle when John came out, Mrs. Hudson had gone back downstairs. “Mrs. Hudson asked if she should be expecting a happy announcement soon.” He rolls his eyes. “I told her to hound you about it. You’re better with relationship navigation anyway.”

"Great. Thanks..." John sighs then stare at the kettle "what are the chances that'll be safe for tea sometime this century?"

“It’s dying anyway. This gives you an excuse to get that new one you’ve been eyeing at Tesco anyway.” Sherlock shrugs.

"So I guess I'll just go now, shall I?"

John sighs again, though honestly, the fresh air sounded good. He needed out of the flat, away from the confusing scents of Alpha. It was too early to retire to his bedroom, where he could throw a window open and air out the room. The last time He'd tried opening the windows in the sitting room (then he’d simply wanted to let in the fresh spring air) Sherlock had muttered something about dust, and promptly shut them again.

"Need anything? Might as well get a few things while I'm there, and if I'm bringing a kettle home, I'm getting a cab, rather than walking it."

“Mm those chocolate biscuits. And tea. And honey, as many kinds as you can manage. Ask the butcher for organs from the bin as well.” Sherlock plugs in the kettle.

"I draw the line at organs," John grumbled as he grabbed his coat.

Only, once at the store, across from the butcher, he caved. The man, it seemed, was well aware of Sherlock and his habits and didn't hesitate in giving John a few bits and bobs.

"Pigs heart, random fowl innards, and a cow's eye," John announces once home. Sherlock is sitting in his chair, hands steepled under his nose deep in thought. John drops the wax paper bag on Sherlock's lap and takes the rest of the groceries into the kitchen.

He washes his hands, then puts the food away. At last turning to the kettle, he unboxes it, and gives it a good rinse, calling over the sound of the running water.

"This is for tea only, Sherlock. No experiments. Water, and tea. Understand?"

“Yes, yes fine.” Sherlock agrees as he looks through his goodie bag.

"You're welcome," John states, a bit dramatically though he isn't exactly sure why it was irking him that Sherlock hadn't thanked him. Or why he'd even caved and given into the Alpha's request in the first place.

He's an Alpha... And your body thinks it’s about to have a heat. His brain warned, a part of him knowing that close proximity and coming down off medical-grade suppressants would be wreaking havoc with his hormones. I haven't had a proper heat in... Oh god, I can’t even remember. Of course, my body is honing in on the first available Alpha it senses.

Sherlock takes the organs to the table and starts dissecting them.

"Takeaway?" John asks, not even bothering to fight Sherlock for use of the kitchen. Not when he looks so much like a child on Christmas morning.

“I ordered Indian while you were out. Don’t worry, I make sure to ask for extra naan.” Sherlock hums as he slices the heart open.

"Uh, thanks."

"Is that what girlfriends do? Feed you up?"

No, you're looking into this too hard. He likes Indian food, he got it for himself and simply forgot to be selfish and not get me any.

"Right I'll just be.. upstairs, call me when it's here?"

Sherlock doesn’t say anything, just continues scrutinizing samples under the microscope.

Risking Sherlock being too absorbed in his work to hear the doorbell, John heads up to his room where he promptly plops down on the bed, breathing in the scent of his bedding, willing the sweet scent of Sherlock to dissipate.

Three more days and I can stab myself with the new suppressant. Just have to make it through a few more days. Maybe Harry is free.

Sherlock gets the food when the delivery comes, pays the delivery man and bounds back to the kitchen. He places the bags on the counter then leans into the hall, calling up the stairs, “John! Food!” He waits, listening for John’s footsteps, and frowns when there’s no answer. “John?” He heads up to John’s room, “John, dinner is here.” He says, then notices that the bedroom door is cracked open.

The scents and sounds of London rush past John's ears. Petrol, ozone, pavement, scents from Speedy's... they all assault John's awakening senses. He'd forgotten it was like this, every scent seemed to come with a colour, every scent seeming to linger in his nostrils for hours after logic told him they'd long faded.

He focused on the scents from Speedy's, picking apart the various smoked meats he used in his sandwiches. Until a noise behind him made him pull his head in from the window and spin around.

"Dinner," Sherlock says simply as if finding his flatmate hanging out of a second-story window was completely normal.

Purple, his scent is purple. John realized, as the proximity once again brought Sherlock's scent front and center.

"Erm, yeah, be right down."

Sherlock looks John over for a moment longer before turning and heading back downstairs, the gears in his mind turning.

I should take up smoking, or fake it. That way it appears I have a reason to hang out the window. John chides himself, taking his last breath of fresh air before heading back into the thick of it all.

Thankfully for John, Indian food was not known for subtle scents. Curry half-drowned out the natural scents of the flat, making it tolerable for John to sit across the table from the Alpha.  
Sherlock has ordered a butter curry, aromas of ginger and coconut rise up and make his mouth water. They divvy out the food, John taking a bit more Naan, and Sherlock extra rice.

"God, I'm starved."

“I’m sure. You hardly touched your lunch today.” Sherlock hums as he eats, rarely eating himself but always noticing patterns about John. “I hope it’s to your liking.” He says, having picked John’s favorites.

"Yeah well, after I learned you'd spilled acid on the table, the thought of eating my sandwich, which I'd prepared on the table, suddenly wasn't very appealing" Instead of being angry, John laughs. Of all things to be worried about, accidentally ingesting acid was at the very least, interesting.

“I cleaned it up. You’re just paranoid.” Sherlock shrugs but he’s smiling. “Mrs. Hudson still won’t listen to me about the hip replacement. Will you talk to her? You’re a doctor after all.”

"Surgery isn't easy, Sherlock. She'll get it when she's ready, and not a moment before. But, I can suggest a few friends in the field." John adds, catching the faint smile on Sherlock's face. "Best she can do is arm herself with knowledge, and make sure it's right for her."

“It’s a good thing we have a resident medical man then,” Sherlock smirks.

Sherlock is halfway through his plate when his phone starts ringing. He gets up and answers. “How many? Where?” He asks, Lestrade calling with a new case.

Knowing that look, and those words, John devours the rest of his meal. When Sherlock was on a case, John was lucky to be given five minutes for a meal, and by how many he assumed there were multiple bodies, which meant Sherlock would want to be there five minutes ago.

“Excellent. We’re on the way.” Sherlock hangs up and grabs his coat. “John, case.”

"Sherlock, curry," John says, dipping the naan into the buttery sauce. "You can wait five minutes for me to finish my meal."

“Six bodies, John. And an Omega going into heat. Bring your kit.” Sherlock heads downstairs to get them a cab.

"Bloody hell...." John mutters, wondering just how badly the cabbie would hate him if he brought the curry with him.

Instead, he hastily throws the covers back on the takeaway containers, pops everything into the fridge, hoping there wouldn't be any cross-contamination with Sherlock's organs, and dashes upstairs for his kit.

He exits the flat just in time to see Sherlock vanish into the back of a cab, and hurries forward to join him. The driver is Alpha, which is not uncommon. But between the two of them, in such close quarters, John begins to wonder if there won't be two Omega's going into heat at the crime scene.

John looks over in surprise when Sherlock unrolls the cab window once they start to move through the city. Once at the crime scene, Sherlock tosses the fare at the cabbie and gets out, heading right into the middle of the crime scene with quick strides. He holds up the police tape for John as he takes in the scene.

A small female omega was trembling with a blanket on and officers talking to her. Men and women, Alphas and betas, though Sherlock notices with annoyance that the team tonight is mostly Alphas.

“All unbound Alphas off this scene immediately!” Sherlock snarls, grabbing Alphas one by one and dragging them off himself when they don’t comply. “John, tend to the woman. Please.” He says, seeing her covered in blood, though it doesn’t appear to be her own blood.

John stands still, shocked at seeing Sherlock's full Alpha side unleashed. It rooted him in his spot until Sherlock gave him an order. He's amazed at how many Alphas simply listened to him, only a few lingered long enough for Sherlock to tear them away from the poor girl.

Why? Why does Sherlock want to be alone with her?

John, tend to the woman.

"Uh, yeah... yeah."

Tightening the grip on his kit he hurries forward, getting as close to the Omega as he could, while still respecting her privacy. Glancing over his shoulder he sees Sherlock dragging the last officer away from the woman, and knows they're mostly out of earshot.

"Hi, I'm Doctor Watson... I'm, well, not a beta, or Alpha..." He offers softly, watching as she looks up and tries to piece together his confession. It takes her a second, but the realization washes some of the fear from her features. John holds up a single finger to his lips, begging her to keep his secret, then crouches low.

"Are you hurt?" He asks, still keeping his distance.

She shakes her head, confirming his initial suspicion. “Did you fall?” He asked, wondering if she’d been pushed into a puddle of blood. She nods once, but then amends it, shaking her head. Confused, possibly concussed.

"Can I come a bit closer?" John asks, giving her a friendly smile. She hesitates for a moment before nodding again.

Sherlock makes sure Lestrade kicks the Alphas out before going back to the scene. He makes sure to keep his distance, not wanting to scare the poor woman anymore. He grabs a scent blocker out of one of the police kits. He rips open the package and slaps the patch on his neck. He gives it a few minutes to work before going to have a look at the scene. Six dead alphas, all executed.

Professional.

Sherlock goes back to John and the woman. “Can you tell us what happened?” He asks softly, making himself look as small and non-threatening as possible.

"You're fine, this close?" John asks without looking at Sherlock.

Sherlock shoots him a look that says "don't be stupid" then promptly ignores him in favor of listening to the young Omega speak. Her words are broken and don’t make much sense so they both wait politely until a team of paramedics arrives, then John pulls Sherlock aside.

"Are you bound? Is there an Omega in your life I need to know about? Because if not, getting that close to her could have been incredibly dangerous! Last thing I need to see is my friend on top of some Omega who's already gone through hell."

“No I’m not bound. And I have a very good idea of what she’s gone through. My body is a transport for my mind. It doesn’t rule over me. I rule over it. She needed to feel safe and protected. You did that. You cleaned her up. I protected her from the other Alphas. She gave information that is vital that wouldn’t have been without that secure feeling. Besides this bloody patch worked.” Sherlock rips the patch off his neck, a small rash on his neck from where it was.

“I don’t care if she was an Omega or beta or Alpha. She was a victim and I will not let her be victimized further or let a murderer go free. I don’t care about secondary biology other than if it’s a motive for a case or not. Beyond that, it’s all background noise.”

"Well, that was still dumb." John hisses, unable to let go of his anger. He'd been warned that his body would attempt a heat between switching brands of suppressants, but he hadn't realized just how emotional it was making him. He kept just thinking That could be me, ready to go into heat, scared, trapped with an Alpha.

"Next time, warn me you have the bloody patch on, couldn't see it under your collar and scarf."

John bites his lip then realizes he's still gripping Sherlock's elbow. He drops it, and steps back then motions to the bodies as if willing Sherlock to be anywhere but by his side where his scent and act of protectiveness were making his body beg him to skip the next dose.

“I apologize..” Sherlock frowns, not liking seeing John so affected. “You should go home and finish eating. I’m going to go to Bart’s and handle the bodies with Molly. I’ll probably be gone all night.”

John opens his mouth, about to cus Sherlock out for suggesting John go home. But his gut wrenches, and it has nothing to do with the carnage surrounding them.

Fuck

He begins to think. The flat is too far away to walk to, and being trapped in a taxi with an unknown Alpha wasn't ideal right now.

"I'll... come with you to Bart's, then make my way home from there," he says, hoping Sherlock wouldn't object.

Sherlock looks John over but doesn’t say anything, only nodding and leading John to the body transport van.

They sit in silence. Sherlock thinking about whatever it was Sherlock Holmes thought about. While John considered dead bodies to be a step up from unknown Alphas who had the power to drive him anywhere, against his will or not.

He felt better, away from the chaos and blood. As his blood pressure went down, so did the symptoms he'd long since forgotten. By the time they made it back to the heart of the city, he almost felt normal, aside from his heightened sense of smell, and decided to at least stop and say hello to Molly.

Sherlock keeps an eye on John, wondering why he’s smelling different. Perhaps it was his anger or the worry over the Omega. Could even be the dead Alphas affecting him. He follows John inside Bart’s as the bodies are taken to the morgue for processing. “We should get a treat for Molly from the cafe so she’ll let us stay for the autopsies.”

"I'll go... cake? Cupcake?" John asks, remembering there was a bakery just down the street. Sugar would help him, or at the very least it would satiate his emotions if only a little.

“Good. She likes the red velvet.” Sherlock nods. “Get yourself something as well. We may be here for a while.” He pulls out a wad of bills from his pocket and hands them over to John before going down to the morgue.

"We?" John asks himself. "Not trying to get rid of me now.. why?"

He ends up buying three red velvet cupcakes, and a dozen chocolate-covered strawberries, knowing that even Sherlock wouldn't be able to resist at least one of the sugary fruits. He tucks the box under his arm and heads back into the hospital, feet carrying him through once familiar halls until he’s in the morgue. Where the grandeur of the sweets is slightly lost among the stainless steel slabs, and the bodies laid out on them.

He places the parcel down on a table as far away from the bodies as he can, and leans against the wall, waiting for Sherlock and Molly to notice he'd arrived. However, the two were in a deep discussion, carried out in hushed tones, and so far neither seemed to know another living soul was around.

“Their scent glands are gone, Sherlock.” Molly mumbles.

“I can see that. Was it professional or sloppy?” Sherlock asks as he looks with her.

"Professional..." John sighs, having gotten near enough to hear.

"I've seen something like this before, and it isn't pretty."

He pinches the bridge of his nose, sucking in a deep breath to keep his emotions stable. He didn't need another spike of his biology crippling him just because he got worked up.

"In Afghanistan, some insurgents had the brilliant idea that doubling their scent glands would double their strength. Think... when a barbarian goes into its berserk state in a video game or movie. We put an end to it before they had a chance to experiment, but they can't have been the only ones to have that idea."

“Of all the superstitious pseudoscience.” Sherlock shakes his head.

“Are you alright, John? You look a bit flush.” Molly says quietly.

"Mm? Oh yeah, fine." John waves Molly off, not even bothering to think of an excuse. "Going to be here a while? If so, I might head home. Maybe have the flat to myself a bit, watch crap telly without Sherlock deducing it on me."

“If you remember anything else from what you’ve seen of this before, text me,” Sherlock says, pulling on gloves before touching the bodies.

“Oh cupcakes.” Molly smiles and goes to the box.

"I'll reach out to a friend, he dealt with most of it. If there's anything we're allowed to share I'll let you know." John says, smiling at Molly, and remembering his cupcake before heading out.

"Maybe a bubble bath, but I'd have to scrub the tub first. That sounds nice... and some wine? And of course, this cupcake."

“A nice relaxing evening.” Molly smiles and picks up her cupcake, taking a bite while Sherlock scoures the bodies.

Feeling a bit guilty for leaving Sherlock, John reminds himself that all he'd do, should he stay, was sit and wait. Per policy, he wouldn't be allowed to help, just like Sherlock technically wasn't allowed to help.

By chance or cosmic design, he flags down London's only Beta cab driver and makes it hope without any more spikes.

“I can feel you staring, Molly,” Sherlock says as he takes samples from under the fingernails.

"Nothing just..." she titters, "he brought you chocolate. You can't tell me you didn't notice how flushed he was. If ever there was a time to bond, well, it would be soon. Sherlock. He'll be needing it. And, well, you tolerate him, as much as you do anyone else. More so even."

Sherlock frowns and glares at Molly. “What are you talking about?”

"Wine... bubble bath, crap telly. He's nesting. Honestly, for a genius, you're not always very bright. What else does he need to do, hang a neon sign over his head saying I'm going into heat soon, and would like to go home and be comforted by my Alpha because that's silly? Sherlock, very silly, they don't make those signs." Molly says, shooting her friend a scathing look over one of the dead Alphas.

"Really, you Alphas act like you're the ones in charge when really, we hold all the power because you lot are too dumb to understand."

Sherlock just blinks. “I..” he looks at the bodies. “Call me when the preliminary results come in.” He whips off the gloves and grabs his coat, heading out the door.

"Yeah, no... I'll text. Don't need you answering the phone during that..." Molly quips.


	4. Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's heat makes a surprise appearance...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, Tindo here! Accident is asleep ;) Maybe some of you lovely people can surprise them with a comment or two for when they wake up?

Alone in the flat, John breathes in a sigh of relief, though the feeling of relief doesn't last long.

Surrounded by the scents of home and Sherlock, his stomach twists and he can feel a once familiar dampness between his cheeks.

"Fuck." he hissed, pulling his mobile out of his pocket he dials his contact on the local army base.

He paces for the ten minutes it takes to be connected, then growls into the phone. "You miss calculated. It's starting, and I need something now not in three days. Fix this, I've had enough unfulfilled heats to last a lifetime, you were supposed to ensure I'd pass as a beta."

His contact mutters something, and papers are shuffled about, then he's being offered a safe house for the duration, rather than the suppressants he needs now, not in three days. But he knows it's already too late, he's already past the point where medical intervention could help.

He's about to accept the safe house when the floorboards in the hall creak. He turns around and sees Sherlock standing wide-eyed in the doorway.

“There’s always something..” Sherlock says softly, looking John over. He makes sure to stand outside the door to the flat. “Text me what you need and I’ll make sure it’s made available to you. I’ll stay down in 221C and make sure no one comes in the flat to get you.” He gives John one last look before turning to go.

John ignores the man on the other end of the phone call and stares at Sherlock like a rabbit caught in the headlights for a moment before snapping back to attention

"Don't... go. I just want to take a bubble bath, drink some wine, eat my cupcakes and maybe have my hair stroked for once" he blurts out before Sherlock can leave. "Plus," he adds quietly, "we're supposed to be pretending to be a couple, you staying downstairs isn't going to help that. One word and my CO can have me in a safe house for the duration. You can tell people my sister needed me, then we'll get this squared away... So it won't happen again. Unless... You don't want me back."

The man on the other end of the line sighs impatiently, but John snaps at him, telling him he can wait a few goddamned seconds. He looks over at Sherlock, trying to judge if he'll still have a home in a few days.

“John, this is your home. You should feel safe and welcome here. Whatever you want or need all you have to do is ask and I’ll make sure it happens.” Sherlock nods. “You are indispensable to the Work and to me. You are free to leave any time you want but I will never force you out.” He says softly. He feels awkward and nervous. He doesn’t want to upset John or cross any lines.

“I can go start the bath if you’d like?” Sherlock offers, trying to show John that he’ll do anything he can to help him.

John nods once at Sherlock, a small thankful smile playing on his lips. Thinking fast he addresses the man on the other end of the phone call. Ignoring his impatient growl.

"I'm staying home where a friend can protect me. However, you will drop off a vial of heat reducer, which you will hand to anyone who answers the door." John hangs up, not giving the man time to argue or come up with a less pleasant option for him.

He hears water coming from the bathroom and snaps back to attention. Dashing up the stairs he grabs his most comfortable pair of pyjamas then heads back downstairs where true enough Sherlock is bent over the tub. John lingers in the doorframe, cupcake in one hand, pyjamas in the other.

"This wasn't supposed to happen. I'm in between brands... I think being so close to that omega set me off. Seeing her stress... Sorry... I'm sure you weren't looking for an Omega to flatshare with,” he mumbles, trying to breach the awkwardness that had come between them.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, John. Technically I wasn’t looking to flatshare with anyone but Mrs. Hudson needs someone to look out for her and this was her stipulation. If anything, being here helps both her and I a tremendous amount.” Sherlock shrugs as he adds fancy bath salts to the water as well as bubble bath.

“I..” Sherlock stands and looks at John. “Living with an Alpha, especially one as difficult to live with as myself, must be hard for you. I want to apologize if I ever made you afraid or fearful as such was never my intention.”

"Yeah..." John starts to say, but stops and tilts his head. "You... never made me feel afraid. Half the time, I think you forget you're an Alpha."

“Gender itself is a construct and secondary gender is like a biological hostage situation. I try to ignore it as much as possible.” Sherlock huffs a small laugh. “Check the temperature of the bath and I’ll go open the wine? Red or white?”

"Biological hostage situation..." John scoffs, stepping into the room and brushing past Sherlock to dip his finger into the water. "Never before has a more apt phrase been uttered. I've spent my whole life trying to avoid my heats. Mm waters nice, and.. red? please?"

Without thinking about social expectations, or what would be considered proper, John strips and slips into the water while Sherlock is off getting the wine. He doesn't care when Sherlock enters the room and finds him mostly buried under a layer of bubbles, all he cares about is the relief the warm water has to offer.

Sherlock nods and goes to the kitchen, opening a fresh bottle and pouring some for John. “Here.” He passes the wine to John. “Is there anything else I can do or get you? Or I could leave you alone?” He asks, never having had to take care of someone in heat before.

"Someone, probably in full military kit, carrying a metal ammo box, will be bringing over a vial of reducer for me. It should make it so at the most, I'm itchy and irritable over the next few days. If possible... just no smelly experiments until this is over?"

John wrinkles his nose at the thought of the reducer but doesn't voice his concerns about the medicine. It isn't ideal, but it's better than being in the throes of sexual desire for the next 78 hours.

"From an outsider's perspective, it'll appear we've swapped roles for a time. Me being the grumpy arsehole in the middle of an epic temper tantrum, while you play the role of 'its time to eat, John, you should bathe, John. John, why don't you change your clothes, you've been in the same pants for two days.' "

Sherlock chuckles softly and nods. “I suppose I can play nanny for a few days.” He teases. “What does it feel like? To be in heat?”

John sits up a bit and reaches for the wine, then changes his mind and grabs the cupcake instead.

"It's a bit like," he says around a bite, sending crumbs into the water. "Watching a really bad porno, where you just can't look away no matter how badly you want to. Like feeling every cell in your body turn to lava for days on end unless sexual gratification is met. It's always been bad for me, I was told they'd get easier once I was an adult... but.." He shrugs and meets Sherlock's gaze, unaware of just how weird it was to be having this conversation naked, in a tub, with an Alpha looming over him. "Too many years suppressing it, I guess, kind of ruined it for myself."

“That doesn’t sound pleasant at all.” Sherlock leans against the sink. “Does spending a heat with a partner help?”

"Don't know. Never have." John says around another mouthful of confectionary heaven. "Threat of an unwanted bond, when my body literally can't say no. Doesn't sound pleasant to me. I'm more than my biology, more than a man capable of bearing children. I refuse to let some sod bond me and stick me at home to raise his.. or her... pups."

Cupcake gone, John sinks back down into the water, letting the wine sit for another moment.

"I should warn you, me living here... guess it could put you in trouble. I'm registered as an Omega, of course. But the military made a few exceptions and had all that buried. Still, you being an Alpha... you'd have to sign ownership of me."

Sherlock scowls. “I don’t want ownership of you. If anything you’re the more reliable and more stable one in this flat. You should have ownership over me if anyone was to own anyone.” He rolls his eyes and sits on the floor, his back leaning against the tub.

“You are your own person. A highly skilled doctor and a veteran. You shouldn’t have to struggle for personhood like this. It’s archaic and deplorable. The only thing that comes out of it is abuse and unhealthy relationships. My mother knocked my father up. They were dating sure but they hadn’t even discussed marriage. Then Mycroft was born so of course, they had to do the right thing and bond.” He makes a gagging noise.

Sherlock sighs and leans his head back against the edge of the tub. “I’ll do whatever I can to make things easier for you but I will not do anything legally binding without your full knowledge and consent.” He turns his head to look at John.

"Pass me a flannel?" John asks after a long stretch of silence.

Part of him knows this should be weird, having Sherlock so close. However, he can't deny that Sherlock's company, in itself, is comforting.

"Dad's an omega then..." he muses, accepting the flannel and dipping it into the water before wringing it out and placing it over his face. Humid warmth washes over him and he lets out a happy sigh.

"Not many of us out there, at least not out in the open. It's harder nowadays when the world has a picture-perfect idea of what masculinity should look like, and bearing children isn't part of that picture."

“My father came from a poor family. They were basically destitute but he was an omega so he could have his pick of whatever suitor he wanted. My mother is from a wealthy family and she’s a mathematician. Quite brilliant in fact, her work has changed quite a few fields.” Sherlock relaxes, the humidity of the bathroom and John’s scent calming.

“Father was a photographer. He took some of the most breathtaking photos I’ve ever seen. Then after having Mycroft he became allergic to the chemicals used in the developing process. I don’t think he ever really forgave mother for getting him pregnant. Especially after he wouldn’t develop his own work anymore.” He frowns.

"Mm biological changes after a male Omega's pregnancy are not uncommon. Your whole body changes, the testosterone you naturally make all but vanishes during pregnancy. I can't imagine it was easy."

The flannel has gone cold, so John drags it off of his face and reaches for the wine.

"My mum was the Omega, so it was a bit easier on her. Harry lucked out, got the Alpha trait while I'm stuck like this every few months. It was half the reason I joined the military. The suppressants they have are far superior to anything you can get at the local chemist. They rendered me identical to a beta male. Only clues would have been my own physical appearance, not that I let anyone see."

Warm and comfortable, John lets out a small sigh. The tightness in his body is no longer clawing at his every nerve. "The case then? Do you know who did it?"

“I have an idea but I need more data first. The Alphas had surrounded that woman because they smelled her heat. Someone took them out. The interesting part is the scent gland removal.” Sherlock hums, eyes closed.

"Mm, well if anyone can figure this out, you can."

John sipped his wine and was silent for a long moment. That could have been him surrounded by Alphas, it had been once. He knew the fear she must have been feeling.

"Glad she's safe."

“As am, I.” Sherlock hums. He could tell that John’s scent was becoming more pronounced but it didn’t bother him in the way most Alphas seem to be bothered. If anything it allowed him to categorize all of John’s smells. He wanted to know everything about John.

"I'm going to... Erm, finish up here." John said after a moment. "Someone should be by soon. I should be able to manage the injection on my own, but I'd rather not open the door myself. Would you mind answering?" Finding himself wanting to stare at the back of Sherlock's neck, he warms the flannel and places it back over his eyes.

“Of course.” Sherlock nods and gets up, his long limbs stretching him off the floor. “Is there anything else I can order you that you may need? Certain food? Entertainment? Toys?”

John laughs out loud at that. Simply thinking about Sherlock walking into an adult shop and buying the largest Alpha cock dildo the store has to offer almost makes this whole ordeal worth it.

"No. If the reducer will take away the worst of those urges. Thank God. I might be a bit more munchy, but mainly out of boredom than anything. Snacks could be good. But don't go out of your way."

Sherlock tips his head as if confused. “What was so funny?”

"You buying me a dildo."

John begins to laugh again, then with a wave of his hand says, "what are friends for, if they can't help you shove a synthetic cock up your own arse."

“I’ve bought a dildo before, John. It’s not a very complicated process.” Sherlock rocks back and forth from his heels to the balls of his feet. “And if it could help you I wouldn’t think twice about it.”

"Yeah, but buying one for yourself is one thing. It's not exactly the most common gift." John peels back the flannel and grins up at Sherlock. The doorbell rings before either of them get a chance to say anything else and Sherlock excuses himself to answer the door.

"Well, when I woke up this morning I didn't think I'd be soaking in a bubble bath with an Alpha sitting beside me." John mutters to himself as he clambers out of the tub and towels off.

Sherlock answers the door seeing a man standing there just as John had described. “The medication?” He holds his hand out.

John is dressed in his cotton pyjamas and is walking out of the bathroom by the time Sherlock comes back upstairs. He rolls his eyes at the armoured box containing the single vial and motions towards the table. Sherlock sets it down and watches as he opens the box.

"Will it be an issue, watching me? Triggers an all that," he asks, pulling out a hyperdynamic needle. He rips the packaging off of it and wastes no time in piercing the cap on the vial.

Sherlock shakes his head. “Haven’t had cravings in a while.” He rips open the alcohol wipe packet and holds it out to John.

"Right, just making sure."

Thanks to the warmth from the tub he finds a vein easily. After cleaning the skin with the wipe he injects the yellowish liquid into his system then purses his lips.

"Do me a favour, watch me for the next twenty minutes. I haven't had this yet, so don't know if I'm allergic. Keep an eye out for cognitive slips, hives, or shortness of breath." Slipping the needle out of his body he paces the cap over the sharp end and tossed into the bin.

“I’ll make tea,” Sherlock says and goes to the kettle. Once he has it filled and turned on he pulls out his phone, fingers flying over the keyboard.

John half wants to ask if Molly has texted yet. The case would distract him from the ache of desire and longing to be pressed up against an Alpha, strong arms holding him close while he buries his nose into dark curls.

Fuck. Not any Alpha. He starts, realizing that the faceless alpha in his fantasy wasn't as faceless as it had once been. Now Sherlock's elegant curves replaced the once blocky shape, pale skin and sharp eyes replaced the once fuzzy face.

"I'm... Going to curl up on the sofa." John mutters, shuffling past the Alpha he now shared a flat with. "One sugar, please. I crave sweet things when I'm like this."

“Mm.” Sherlock hums and nods, not looking up from his phone. When the tea is ready he makes it and brings John his mug as well as a package of biscuits he knows John secretly likes when he’s not feeling well.

"No signs of allergic reaction yet, the worst would have kicked in by now." John says, watching Sherlock’s fingers fly across the front of his phone. "case stuff? Do you need to leave?"

“Mm? No. Placing an order.” Sherlock says as he looks at the list of items. “Do you prefer milk or dark chocolate?”

"What?" John lifts his head and glances over at Sherlock in puzzlement.

“Dark or milk chocolate. I’ve seen you enjoy both. I'll get both.” Sherlock hums, sipping his tea as he adds more things to the order.

"You're being nice to me..." John says when half his tea is gone. He can't recall the last time Sherlock was voluntarily nice to anyone. Even when buttering up a client, the act slipped the instant it was no longer needed. Yet, something told John this wasn't an act. "Why?"

Sherlock squirms a bit, looking uncomfortable. “I want you to stay here at Baker Street. Most people can’t stand being around me longer than absolutely necessary and yet you live here by your own volition. You’re indispensable to the Work and to me. And I’d rather have you comfortable and safe with me than out there. Alphas are disgusting horrendous creatures. If I could be anything else I would.” He looks at John.

John sighs and props his back up against the arm of the sofa, stretching his feet out over the cushions.

"I was afraid you'd ask me to leave, if you found out. I've been careful, soaps, and scent neutralizer clothes. I think seeing that Omega in stress set me over the edge. I was worried that if I accepted their offer of a safe house, I'd come back to find you gone, or my things on the pavement."

“Never, John. This is your home just as much as mine.” Sherlock promises.

"Pass me the blanket from my chair?" John asks, curling up on his side with his back against the cushions.

The contents of the vial were making him drowsy.

"Just.. going to nap a bit."

Sherlock gets the blanket and lays it out over John. “I’ll be here if you need anything.”

"Ta," John mumbles moments before slipping off to sleep.

Dreams during a heat were typically far more vivid than normal dreams. John imagined they were meant to make the omega wake up already _gagging for it_. But instead of the faceless Alphas hovering around him as per normal, he dreamt of Sherlock sitting by his head, running those long fingers through his sandy hair.

Sherlock watches John sleep for a bit before sitting on the edge of the couch, gently threading his fingers through John’s hair. John had mentioned that this would help so he thought he’d try it. He places the order that should arrive by the time John woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John is a whore for bubble baths, what can I say?


	5. Managing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finds some ways to help John with his heat..

The sitting room is empty when John wakes, but a soft rustling of bags from the kitchen tells John he's not alone.

Focusing on his body he's pleased to find that, while still sensitive and desperately longing for a good solid hug, his heat hasn't progressed any further.

He yawns and stretches, finding a pillow had been placed under his head while he slept.

“Oh good, you’re awake. Put this together.” Sherlock brings John a box with a collapsible projector screen inside.

"Uhhh..." John mutters, running a hand through his strangely disheveled hair.

Sherlock doesn't give him time to think about it. He simply thrusts the object against his chest, leaving it to John to make sure it doesn't clatter to the floor.

He sits at the table, staring at the mess while trying to figure out how to put the box together.

"Did you buy out Gregg's?

“Hardly, John. They just have a larger selection on the website.” Sherlock hums as he dumps out bags of snacks. He puts them away where they go and then starts working on the larger bags. He puts away the bathroom supplies, bath bombs and bubble bath.

"No one has ever done this for me before," John says softly, watching as Sherlock moves about.

"I... Thanks..."

Sherlock nods stiffly. “I... I was sent to an alpha and beta boys boarding school when I was a child. I presented late which they teased me mercilessly for. One day another boy who they thought was a beta went into heat. He just so happened to be assigned my partner for a project. We were in the library and he was sweating and trembling. Then they came.. I held them off for as long as I could until the professors could arrive. I was sent to the hospital with a concussion and multiple fractures but they didn’t lay one finger on him.”

"Uh.. wow." John says, thinking back to his first heat and how terrifying it had been.

"He was lucky to have someone watching out for him. Not everyone is so lucky. And in a mixed school, god..."

“I was suspended for fighting. The others were let off with a warning because they were following their instincts. I was a freak who didn’t want to rape my helpless classmate.” Sherlock shakes his head.

"Yeah well, it's not legally classified as rape, now is it..." John says bitterly, "It's our own damn fault for being out in public like that. Here... I think this is done?" He holds up the box for Sherlock's inspection.

“But that’s what it is. I don’t care what name it has.” Sherlock takes the box and pulls the handle and the projector screen rolls perfectly. “Excellent.” He takes it out to the living room and stands it up, unrolling the screen. He goes back to the table and unboxes a mini projector.

"Did you get popcorn?" John asks, trying not to sound too hopeful as the pieces began to fit together. It was a pain moving their tiny tv so they could both sit comfortably on the sofa.

Clearly, Sherlock had some sort of movie night planned, though his idea of entertainment was usually a documentary on ash, which to him was something along the lines of a comedy.

“Obviously, John. What kind of heathen do you take me for?” Sherlock scoffs as he pulls out an air popcorn popper from another bag. “There’s also an assortment of flavorings from sweet to savory to once that I find strange to put on popcorn.” He hands John the box of flavorings before taking the popper out of the box.

"Mmmm sweet for me"

John isn't quite sure where to place the box, so he placed it on the coffee table, then on a whim climbs the stairs to his room and comes back with half his bedding in tow.

"Should we warn Mrs. Hudson? Though the more I think about it the more I imagine she'd be thrilled to learn I'm an Omega.." John says, claiming half the sofa as his with his various pillows and blankets then climbing into his makeshift nest.

“I told her that you weren’t feeling well and not to come up so she doesn’t catch anything. It is your information to give if you wish to do so.” Sherlock plugs in the projector and hands John a new weighted blanket while it turns on.

"Ta," John says to both Sherlock's words and the blanket. He replaced one of his thinner blankets with the new one, sighing as the weight settles around him

"Oh, this is heaven."

“Good.” Sherlock smiles, he had done research on how to help an omega through their heat without sex. “There is also a new heating pad should you need it. The last one caught fire.” He hums, not admitting he was the reason it had gone up.

"Very flammable, those heating pads," John grins, curling up into a tight little ball. "So which documentary are we watching today?"

“No documentary today. I was thinking something more to your liking.” Sherlock hooks up the Bluetooth from his laptop to the projector. On the screen appears the title page of a Bond movie.

"Oh!"

With the popcorn ready they each fix themselves a bowl, John option for a sweeter flavour while Sherlock goes for something a bit more normal.

"Thanks," he says again as the opening song begins to play.

“Not a problem.” Sherlock hums as he munches on a handful of popcorn.

John makes it through half the movie before his eyes begin to get heavy from a mixture of the medicine, comfort, and a full stomach.

Propped up on a stack of pillows he begins to doze off waking every few minutes, or when the action gets too loud.

Eventually, the volume doesn't matter. Without thinking about *who* was beside him. He gave in to the basic desire of human connection. Pushing all but one of his pillows aside he plants the final pillow square on Sherlock's lap then curls up with the back of his head pressed against Sherlock's stomach.

Sherlock stills, letting John do as he pleases. He gently pets John’s hair and lowers the volume of the movie.

The credits have long since ended, the screen black when John finally wakes up.

It takes him a moment to remember that the reason the surface below his head is warm is because it is Sherlock's lap, not his bed.

He sits up and finds Sherlock silently watching him.

Instead of mentioning the obvious, his falling asleep on an Alpha, he sleepily asks, "Anything from Molly?"

“The alphas samples came back and they were all dosed with a slow-acting paralytic.” Sherlock hums. “I’m starting to think they may have been lured to that alley.”

"Lured that close to an Omega in heat..." John hisses, "was she a plant... Or?"

“I don’t think she was involved with whatever scheme was going on. She may have just been a convenient coincidence. Her terror and fear were genuine.”

"Check my phone, see if my contact got back to me on his findings in Afghanistan, if you haven't already," John says around a yawn. 'I need the loo."

Sherlock nods and gets John’s phone, looking for messages.

John finds Sherlock engrossed in what he assumed to be the email and curled back up on the sofa.

"Let me guess it's a photocopy of a report and almost all the words are redacted."

Sherlock frowns and nods. “Redactions never make sense to me. Knowledge is knowledge. It’s just a hindrance to the truth.” He hands John back his phone before getting his laptop. He logs into the MET server using Lestrade’s login so he can search for similar cases of scent glands being removed.

"Maybe your brother can get the original copy?" John offers around another yawn.

"Think I'll turn in. Erm. Thanks for the movie night, and the snacks. And the bath, "

It takes him a moment but he gathers up his bedding and heads for the stairs.

“Oh, I read that having familiar scents helps. Would you like some of my clothing?” Sherlock asks, looking up from his laptop.

"Ummm...."

John stops at the door and tenses for a fraction of a second. Sleeping with Sherlock's clothing hadn't been even in the far reached of the back of his mind. But now presented with the offer, he found he didn't want to refuse.

"Would you mind?" He said carefully.

“Of course not.” Sherlock nods as he stands and starts to unbutton his shirt.

"Oh. I thought you'd get a new sh... That works too." John stammers watching as each undone button revealed a bit more of Sherlock's skin.

He found himself contemplating what it would be like to nuzzle along Sherlock's chest when he felt the familiar clench in his stomach.

Sherlock passes John the shirt, he has some scarring from failed experiments and fights, silvery scars over his pale skin.

"That must have required stitches..." Shuffling the shirt, and the pile of bedding into one arm John reaches out and runs a finger along a scar just across the left of Sherlock's chest.

“Mm pocket life.” Sherlock nods, relaxing under John’s touch.

"Yours or... Oh.. the Omega in the library," John guesses while wondering how it's possible that such a simple point of contact could feel as good as it felt to be touching Sherlock.

“That’s right,” Sherlock says softly, gently taking a step closer. He lists what different scars are from. He pushes his hair to the side, a scar on his scalp. “Had to have a hole drilled to ease pressure on my brain.”

The close proximity is making John's head spin. Both physically and mentally.

"I had a suspicion that you are human..." He murmurs, "but this is proof. What's this one from?" John traces the small scar at the corner of Sherlock's lips, a feature that instead of hindering Sherlock looks added.

“Another junky head-butted me when his stash went missing. He thought I stole it but he’d used it up.” Sherlock mumbles against John’s fingers.

John lets his finger drop, worried that if he didn't his stomach would clench with desire again.

"I've just got the one really, and an appendix scar. I mean a few odds and ends here and there, but nothing as heroic as some of yours."

“Most of them are stupid accidents.” Sherlock shrugs.

"They usually are... Right. well... " John nods towards the stairs then catches a pillow before it slips to the floor "goodnight, Sherlock."

“Goodnight, John.” Sherlock nods and goes back to his laptop.

Up in his room, John hastily makes his bed then plops down, face first, nose buried into the soft fabric of Sherlock's shirt.

"It's just your bloody heat talking. Get a grip. He doesn't like you, not like that."

Sherlock spends the night working on the case.


	6. The Switch

John wakes up the next morning with Sherlock's shirt held closely to the side of his face. He's pleased to find his heat hadn't progressed over the night, but annoyed to find he was still on the verge of wanting a wank followed by a bottle of wine, then another wank. He slides his hand down to the waistband of his pyjamas but stops short of touching himself. It doesn't feel right, masturbating with Sherlock's scent cloying at his nostrils. Surley there was a line that shouldn’t be crossed about fantasising over your flatmate, even if he were an Alpha. 

Sherlock is downstairs making breakfast, a full spread for John to enjoy. He had done more research on Omega’s overnight in-between casework. Through such research, he’d learned that nesting usually came hand in hand with comfort eating.

“John!” Sherlock calls up. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

John's hand slides out of his waistband with a snap of elastic. He groans and sits up. Half wanting to remain curled up under his pile of blankets, while the rest of him wanted to find out what Sherlock considers breakfast to be. The growling in his stomach wins, and without changing into fresh pyjamas, he heads downstairs. Leaving Sherlock's shirt spread out on top of his pillow.

Sherlock has all of John’s favorites on the table. “Research says that heats can lead to increased appetite.”

"Mmm, did you sleep, or did you spend up all night researching Omegas?" John says sleepily, slumping down into a chair and wincing when his extra sensitive rear end hits the hard surface. John tucks in, and despite his grumbling, a smile creeps over his face at the array of food.

"Thanks," He says, reaching for a plate and loading it up with greasy breakfast foods.

Sherlock nods and eats a piece of bacon. “That and the case. Oh here.” He gets a cushion and hands it to John to pad the chair.

"Anything new with the case?" John asks while stabbing a sausage with his fork. He brings it to his mouth and pops the end in, sucking off some of the juices before taking a bite, and repeating the process with the rest of the sausage until it's gone.

Sherlock is distracted for a second before speaking. “I found a few similar cases where the scent gland was removed but the paralytic is new. Someone with access to medical-grade chemicals.”

"Might be hard to track down. More people than you know have access to medical-grade chemicals... I mean, even pharmaceutical reps have access, in small quantities. It's amazing what they're allowed to carry on them."

He snags a pancake, and takes a bite, humming in pleasure to see Sherlock had gone for the sweeter, American version of the breakfast. Sherlock hands him a bottle of syrup, which John slathers onto the meal, then licks his fingers clean.

Sherlock’s chest feels warm as he watches John eat the food he prepared. “John, you may be on to something.” He pulls out his phone.

"Mm? Of course, I am. I'm smarter than I look. Bloody army surgeon, not some GP.. Have you ever tried operating on someone while IEDs are going off around you?"    
  
John smiles warmly, the food and Sherlock's apparent interest in his input on the case puffing up his feeling of self-worth. He'd known for quite some time that his  _ love language _ was a mixture of words of praise and touch, and in the last 14 hours, he'd had a plethora of both.

“Wouldn’t want anyone else performing surgery on me in a war zone.” Sherlock chuckles. “Your experience and knowledge is very useful.”

"Keep saying that, it's nice." John jokes, finally setting his fork down after devouring half the food on the table. "You should eat something."

Sherlock picks at John’s leftovers. “Quite a few of our cases wouldn’t have been solved without your knowledge and social skills.”

"Go on..." John says, leaning back in the chair and grinning wide. "Kidding, you don't have to. Are you going to head out today, hit the pavement, and solve the case? I should be alright, as long as you lock the doors behind you."

John thinks for a moment then asks, "Well, I  _ think  _ I'll be alright. I can't smell myself... is it bad?"

Sherlock nods. “You smell like you’re in heat. I’m still waiting on some more information so going out isn’t strictly necessary as of yet.”

"Shit, I can go wash up with that soap..."

John stands and stretches. He doesn't feel like he's in heat, a bit flushed, sensitive, and his clothes felt too restricting. But all in all, he felt normal like he'd just spent too long in a sauna and his body was still tingling from the heat. Once he'd worked the kinks out of his shoulders he brought his plate to the sink and headed down the hall, intent on a quick shower and a thorough scrub.

“You don’t have to. It doesn’t bother me.” Sherlock shrugs. “It’s up to you.”

John shrugs and continues down the hall, where Sherlock's scent was strongest near his bedroom.

"The thought of not wearing clothes is pleasant enough that I find I want a shower. Might test the hot water limits, so if you need hot water, get it now."

“I got some bath bombs as well if you want another bath,” Sherlock suggests. “Anything I can do?”

"I'm alright," John assures Sherlock, disappearing into the bathroom. This time he shut the door, but took care not to shut it hard.

While the thought of another lazy bath with good conversation and company was tempting, he wasn't certain his body would allow him to keep it just that, pleasant company. He breathed a sigh of relief the moment his clothes were off his skin, and stepped into the shower, pulling the curtain in tight so the steam wouldn't leak out.

"First things first... I'm going to have a bloody wank and see if that helps get this out of my system." He muttered to himself, while stroking his hand down his stomach and cupping himself.

Sherlock cleans up breakfast and puts away the leftovers. He goes back to the living room and looks at the notes he has pinned to the wall.

The shower and wank are wonderful, but neither help alleviate John's level of discomfort. When the hot water starts to run out, he scrubs himself clean, opting for Sherlock's soap rather than his neutralizer, then steps out.

Dressed in just his pyjama bottoms, figuring there was no point in being uncomfortable in front of partial nudity, seeing Sherlock had sat in on his bath, he wanders out of the bathroom and curls back up on the sofa, watching Sherlock work.

“Here.” Sherlock hands John a black nondescript bag as he tacks some new notes to the wall. Inside the bag were a few different sex toys.

"Mmm... Thanks.. I guess?" John says, blushing a bit when he saw the contents. Placing them on the floor beside the sofa he reaches for the weighted blanket and pulls it over his lower half, dragging it up to his ribs. "Trying to avoid that, if possible. Sometimes scratching the itch just makes it worse."

“As long as you’re not suffering.” Sherlock shrugs, frowning as he looks at the wall.

"Suffering, no. Annoyed and slightly uncomfortable, yes." John says, thinking about the Omega cowering in terror the night before. "Trust me, I have it easy right now compared to her. Her terror will only amplify her heat, unbound as she is... she'll be lucky to.... Sherlock!" 

John sits up, and reaches for the nearest phone, and begins poking at the keys.

"What if we're looking at this from the wrong angle? What if this was never about the dead Alphas, but about the Omega? She's going to need to be bound this heat or else her heat is going to be intolerable. Favorable, for an Alpha who's been trying to win the favour of an Omega who isn't interested."

He taps out a quick message to Lestrade, asking who the paramedics were who'd taken her, and where she'd been brought to.

"All that Alpha had to do was orchestrate the right scenario, and make it so he was there when she needed him the most. Taking their scent glands might have been for fun, or just to throw us of the trail."

“Oh.  _ Oh John! _ You’re brilliant!” Sherlock grins. “A savior complex. Saves her from the Alphas and then disappears so she can receive medical attention. We need to know where she is right now.”

"Sherlock..." John says after a pregnant pause. He gets up, leaving the comfort of his temporary nest, and places both hands on either of Sherlock's arms.

"Be careful... I mean it. We're not completely defenseless, in our heats. Just like your scent has the ability to drive me nuts, Omegas can control their ability to bring an alpha to their knees. Seduction at its finest."

He says, not realizing his slip, inserting Sherlock specifically into the scenario, rather than a generic Alpha. “I could, with a single thought, have you on your knees with lust. Boost my pheromones purposefully to blind you with desire. It's temporary, and only enhances the Alpha's abilities and strengths in the end. But she could be using it to keep him away from her. She might even use it on you if you waltz in as her knight in shining armor. Better to bond with a Savior than the man inflicting so much stress. Might be best to send a beta in, or..."

He chews his lips for a moment, considering if he could trust Sherlock with the information, "there's a group, a society of people whose goal is to aid omegas. Alphas like you who have no desire to cave to social standards of fuck, breed, then fuck some more. They pair a needy omega up with an Alpha, who will bond with them, then leave forever. I'll send you the details, they might be able to help, though she isn't capable of making a decision like that right now..."

He meets Sherlock's steady gaze, feeling the intensity of it and realizing his thumbs had been brushing small circles over Sherlock's arms.

Sherlock watches John intently, feeling his strong hands on him. “Do it. Do it, John. Show me what I’d be up against.” He wanted to know how an omega could affect others and he needed to know the extent to which it could affect him.

Sherlock takes half a step closer, his chest pressed to John’s as he rests his hands on the omega’s hips. “I need to know that I can resist it. That the Work isn’t in danger of biological impulses. Please, John. You must show me.”

"Sherlock," John says, instilling a slight growl into his voice, "I don't think you understand what you're asking me to do. It ramps up your instincts, you have displayed incredible control, but what if this breaks that? I don't want to be the reason you go against everything you've fought for."

John takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He can feel the warmth of Sherlock's chest against his own bare skin and the fingers wrapped around his waist feel like branding iron.

“Cuff me to a chair then.” Sherlock’s warm breath brushes against John’s temple. “I’m used to temptation, John. My entire existence and fraught with desire and temptation and addiction. Give me some credit.” He noses as John’s hair lightly.

"No, not a chair, too easily moved. The radiator in the bathroom."

John says, after a moment of thinking.

Sherlock goes off to get the cuffs, leaving John missing his presence mere centimeters away from him. Gathering himself for what he was about to do he squared his shoulders and met up with Sherlock in the bathroom.

"Not even going to ask why you have these," he murmurs, taking the cuffs from Sherlock and attaching one end to the sturdy radiator. "Wrist, please. And remember, if you pull this will hurt you, not the radiator."

Sherlock offers his wrist to be cuffed. “Nicked them off Lestrade when he’s annoying. I've been cuffed to a radiator before. I know the drill.” He smirks.

"Git..." John smiles, despite himself and what he's about to do. "You're... uh.. going to get hard, sorry."

Sherlock shrugs. “It happens occasionally. I ignore it and it goes away soon enough.”

"Hope you're right.... Do me a favor, reach out as far as you can? I need to make sure I'm not in danger of being grabbed."

Sherlock reaches out as far as he can, pulling on the cuff and showing John the range of his reach. “That’s as far as I can go without gnawing my own hand off.”

With the back of his heels pressed against the side of the tub, John nods and sits on the edge.

"Sorry... in advance." Casting Sherlock a single apologetic look he closes his eyes and focuses.

It's been years since he's had to do this, and while unpracticed, it's a trick any Omega can call up instantly. It's like taking a triple dose of ecstasy, but instead of being the one feeling the effects, he's the satellite.

He knows his pheromones have changed, growing more potent with the heady promise the scents carry with them. Sherlock's eyes instantly go wide and his nostrils begin to flare.

"Like this, Sherlock, I could say anything in the world. I could be telling you that you have a troll sized booger hanging out of your nostril, and all you'll hear is sex, sex sex."

He wiggles a bit, the change making his body believe it would finally learn what it's like to be with an Alpha during his heat, something he'd denied himself his whole life.

"Can you talk still? Tell me how you're feeling? It takes a minute for it to kick in. Your body has to absorb my scent, then I can play with you."

Sherlock breathes deeply, John’s scent and pheromones washing over him. He closes his eyes and drops his head as he tries to focus. His cock filling out in his tight trousers. “It’s.. it.” He swallows. “It’s strong.”

"Yeah, sorry, there's no dial. Just on or off. It's mean to help us overwhelm an Alpha. Sometimes used for mutual fun, but mostly to escape tough situations. We can do it even when we don't have a heat, but it just dazes and confuses an assailant."

Watching Sherlock's eyes, he waits until the pupils start rapidly narrowing then enlarging again.

"Right about now, you'll be feeling the full effect. Which means my words mean nothing to you."

John shrugged and found himself wondering if Sherlock's mind was still intact if he could still deduce and read him as plain as a page in one of his mystery novels.

A low growl fills the room, making the hairs on his neck stand, and an electric shock rolls through his stomach.

It had been far too long since he'd heard an Alpha turn their attention on him, and here on the cusp of this strange heat, his body craved it.

John stands from the edge of the tub and inches closer, inhaling the Alpha's scent and letting his eyes flutter shut.

Notes of rich leather, honey, and caramel fill his nose and he lets out a low mewling sound.

“You..” Sherlock shows his breathing. “You can touch me, John. I won’t touch you back.” He licks his lips. “You’re in charge. I’m at your mercy.”

"If I touch you, you won't like what happens next," John whispers, his mouth watering at the very thought of burying his nose in the V of Sherlock's groin.

"Your control is astonishing, but mine wouldn't be quite as impressive."

Closing his eyes he focuses for a moment, then shudders as the warmth is sapped out of him. He's left feeling hollow and worn out, like a pair of ratty jeans that have managed to avoid the garbage bin far past their prime.

Placing the handcuff key on the floor he kicks it towards Sherlock then flees the bathroom, heading to his bedroom, giving both himself and Sherlock space while they sort themselves out.

Sherlock sits on the floor for some time, eyes closed and head down. Eventually, he reaches for the key and lets himself out of the cuff. He goes and stands at the bottom of the stairs. “John? Are you alright?” He calls up to John’s room.

John has his hands down his pants when Sherlock calls up to him.

It doesn't feel right answering him, while his scent still lingered and fueled his fantasies, but the alternative was Sherlock walking in on him under the guise of checking on him.

Only, it wasn't a ruse, was it? Over the past day, Sherlock had displayed over and over that some part of him cared. Mr. I don't do sentiment had suddenly decided to show his heart. From the junk food to the blanket, to simply being willing to listen.

Sighing, John calls out "Fine... go save her, Sherlock."

Sherlock hesitates for a moment before getting his coat. “If you need anything call me immediately. Mrs. Hudson won’t let anyone in and if they try she’s armed. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He races down the stairs and out the door.

John finishes his guilty wank, then cleans up, despite knowing Sherlock would be able to smell it the moment he walked back in the flat. In desperate need of fresh air, John drags every stitch of bedding he owns over to the window, throws the window open as wide as it can go, and curls up into a ball on the floor below it.


	7. Shots and Snuggles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finishes a case and Mycroft is a prick.

Hours later Sherlock comes home. He was sore and there was some dried blood smeared over his face but the woman was safe and the case was solved. “John? I’m home.” He says as he takes off his coat.

Unable to sleep, due to his body feeling as if it were on fire, every ounce of him screaming for an Alpha, John is awake when Sherlock gets home. The nearby church bell rings two in the morning, and Sherlock's scent (stronger now that he's home) wafts up the stairs. Mixed with it is the vile scent of another Omega in heat and a coppery undertone.

John knows that scent well, it haunts his nightmares. Red blood dripping from men he was trying to save. The mixture of scents has him on his feet before his brain has time to catch up with his actions. He slithers, more than walks, down the stairs, every one of his movements betraying him as an Omega, rather than the soldier he'd become.

He finds Sherlock in the kitchen, turning the kettle on. Sauntering up to Sherlock he takes Sherlock's face in both hands and begins twisting it up towards the light, inspecting him for an injury.

"Yours? Or... hers.." He growls, wondering how so much blood found its way to the corners of Sherlock's mouth. Anger boils up in him, imagining Sherlock's teeth sinking into the neck of someone. Someone else. Not his neck.

“Clam yourself, John. No one is bonded to me.” Sherlock says softly as he relaxes into John’s touch. “I went to the hospital to see her. While I was there the Alpha that’s been stalking her hit me over the head with a bedpan. Fortunately for me, it takes more than that to knock me out. A fight broke out. He tried to strangle me as he slammed my head against the floor so I grabbed him by the hair and pulled him down, ripping his scent gland out of his neck with my teeth.”

John only hears half of what Sherlock said. His mind swimming and heart singing knowing that Sherlock was still unbonded.

"Sit," he orders, gathering himself. Placing a hand on Sherlock's shoulder he pushes him into one of the chairs. He hurries into the bathroom to retrieve his medical kit. The cuffs still dangle from the radiator, reminding him of Sherlock leaning against it. The outline of his cock hard and heavy against posh trousers.

Without realizing it, he mentally flips the pheromone switch. Then heads back out to the kitchen where he begins cleaning Sherlock's face with a warm cloth, dabbing antiseptic on the tiny scrapes he finds in Sherlock's pale skin.

"You should get tetanus, and rabies shot, if you aren't up to date. You probably ingested some of his blood, and who knows if he's clean or not."

“Yes, John.” Sherlock closes his eyes, relaxing. “I’ll have my brother send someone to give me the jabs.” He mumbles, he spreads his legs, and tugs John a bit closer by his hips so John can reach him better. “He was obsessed with her. He’s been leaving her flowers and gifts inside her flats no matter how many times she moves. Apparently, he’d also been orchestrating scenarios where he could save her.” He hums as he rubs John’s thighs.

John sighs, his body relaxing as Sherlock's fingers brush over the thin cotton of his pyjamas.  
The simple act of providing care calms him, until he forgets his panic over thinking Sherlock had come back bonded. When he's done, and Sherlock's face is no longer stained crimson, he finds he doesn't want to step away. With Sherlock sitting, he's taller than the Alpha. Looking down, he stares at Sherlock's lips, licking his own lips, wondering what it would be like to simply lean forward and taste his mouth.

Sherlock looks up at him, reading his face. “Let me have a shower and we can cuddle on the couch if you would like.” He says softly, seeing the stress and worry on John’s face and how his presence eases that.

"Sofa is too small..." John says, growling when Sherlock eases him back so he can stand. "Your bed is bigger."

Without allowing himself time to think, he heads down the hall, this time nudging the door at the very end of the hall open, entering the Alpha's domain. Sherlock's bed waits, like a life raft promising him warmth and safety.

He can tell by the dip in the pillow which side Sherlock favours, so he pulls back the blankets and climbs into the other side, nuzzling his nose against the bedding. It smells like Sherlock and soap. Heaven to his aching body. Muscles he hadn't realized he had been clenching begin to relax as he curls up on his side, facing the other half of the bed.

Sherlock goes and showered, scrubbing the rest of the blood off himself. Once he’s clean he gets out and dries off before going to his room to get dressed. He lets the towel fall to the floor before pulling pants on and then his sleep flannel bottoms over them. “Comfortable?” He asks John as he texts Mycroft to send someone with the shots.

"Mmm, sheets are soft," John slurs while rubbing his face across the pillow. "mine are all scratchy." They smell nice too, like you."

“Good.” Sherlock nods and gets into bed, relaxing on his side. “How are you feeling? Have you eaten?”

"I can't recall the last thing I ate... but. I'm not hungry. The body sort of shuts down goes into hibernation mode. 'Specially for males, you don't want a lot of food in your system during a time you're supposed to be having nonstop sex."

The blankets shift as Sherlock gets in. They slide and expose John's back to the cool night air. He tugs a corner close, then finds he has to nudge closer to Sherlock if he wants his back completely covered.

“When my shots arrive I’ll make you some tea and toast.” Sherlock relaxes and turns towards John.

"Mm, just tea," John says around a yawn, shifting in the bed until his forehead is pressed against Sherlock's shoulder. "I think I've turned the... thingy on, can't... remember ... to turn it off," he says brokenly, fighting off sleep.

“It’s alright. Just relax.” Sherlock gently wraps his arm around John, holding him close.

John lets out a soft whine at the contact. Sherlock's bare skin is damp and still smells like his soap, the same soap John had used on himself earlier.

"I... this feels nice," John whispers moments before giving in and letting sleep take him.

Sherlock holds John, nuzzling John’s hair. They stay like that for half an hour before Sherlock’s phone vibrates. He reads the texts that his shots were there so he slowly gets up so he doesn’t wake John. He goes downstairs and rolls his eyes when he opens the door. “Mycroft.”

"Not a beta after all," Mycroft says, sniffing the air and frowning. "Shall we expect a happy announcement by the end of the day?" Mycroft points to a man, a beta underling, and points to the case Anthea is holding.

"A warning would have been nice, I might be older than you, but I still am an Alpha... his scent is... weak though. Not a full heat?"

“I wasn’t expecting company. We’ll do the jabs here.” Sherlock presents his arm to get it over with. “He’s taken care of it himself. I’m just here to make sure he’s safe.”

"Mmm always the hero," Mycroft says, watching as his underling administers the shots. "Taking care of more than one Omega in one night. Some might call that brave, but you know what I think."

“You make your opinions known far and wide.” Sherlock sneers.

"Yes well, not everyone requires shots at half three in the morning, brother mine," Mycroft says as he turns around and heads back to his car, underlings following at his heel.

"I'll be by in a few days with the paperwork, he is unregistered, you know."

“He won’t sign anything under your pressure and I won’t force him.” Sherlock snaps.

"Then fudge the details. Make it look real. Misspell a name, I don't care, Sherlock. It's to protect him as much as it is you." Mycroft stops and turns back to his brother.

"What happens if he gets hurt while following you around London? Hmm? They won't treat him without an Alpha's consent, and that Alpha has to have claimed ownership of him. Worse yet, what if someone finds out he still has his service gun? Think about it, Sherlock. Both of you. I'll give you a few days."

“I don’t need your protection.” Sherlock snarls and slams the door, going back upstairs.

Sensing the change in mood John lift's his head and frowns at Sherlock when he comes back to bed. Sniffing once he wrinkles his nose.

"How was your brother? Annoying? Please tell me he was wearing a nightgown with one of those funny sleep hats that dangles past his chin."

“No nightgown could cover his oversized arse,” Sherlock grumbles as he tries to get comfortable. “He was talking about you being unregistered.”

"Mm... 'strue. Military overrode my familial ownership. I was given a year to find an Alpha after being sent home... Technically I'm a ward of the Army, until then." John says, instantly seeking out Sherlock's body for comfort once more.

Sherlock cuddles John to himself again. “It’s your choice. Whatever you need to do.”

"They need proof of a bond, or I get assigned a random Alpha," John mumbles, nuzzling his nose along Sherlock's neck. "Don't want that. And I don’t want to think about it right now. I just want to sleep right now."

Sherlock growls softly, the thought of John being bonded against his will irritating. “I won’t let you be shipped off.”

"Not your usual case, and I can't pay well." John yawns then slings his arm over Sherlock's stomach. "Night, Sherlock..."

“You’re not a case. You’re my friend.” Sherlock holds him. “Goodnight, John.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment and let us know what you think!


	8. Bed Sharing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy <3

The sun is well up when John finally wakes. There's a warm body beneath him, the rise and fall of their chest indicating that whoever his bedmate is, they're still asleep. John's cock is hard and aching, and over the course of the night, his pyjamas had grown damp with slick. He groans and nuzzles into the warmth, inhaling the calming scent of Sherlock.

 _Oh shit..._ Sherlock. John's eyes flash open and he half sits, wincing as his damp clothing sticks and slides uncomfortably across his arse. Sherlock is asleep, stretched out with one arm folded under his pillow, a typical Alpha sleep position. The other arm rests gently over John's lower torso. Thinking back, John vaguely remembered cleaning Sherlock's face, then crawling into bed.

Sherlock mumbles, his arm tightening around John’s middle when he feels him move. Tired from the fight he had slept soundly. The slight fever from the injections made him not want to stay in bed.

As Sherlock sleepily pulls him back down into the cocoon of blankets, John finds he doesn't want to get up and flee for his bedroom. He and Sherlock had entered into the flatshare under the false pretense of a relationship. Since Sherlock had found out he was an Omega, all John could think about was what would happen if it wasn't a false relationship... what if it were real.

Laying his head on Sherlock's chest, his forehead brushes against Sherlock's cheek. He's warm, and out of habit, John feels the injection site. Warm, but not dangerously so. It's just the medication taking its course. He'd have to make sure that Sherlock drank plenty of clear fluids, and ate at least one solid meal, but he'd be fine by the end of the day.

Sherlock relaxes once John is against him again. He slept for a while longer before finally waking. “Mm morning, John.” He mumbles, he had a slight headache and needed a coffee. “How are you feeling?” He rubs a hand over his face.

"Bout the same as yesterday..." John shrugs then lies just a little, "Don't think I'm any worse. You look like you've gotten into a fight or something. Caffeine, paracetamol, then lots of water today. Over exerting yourself in the fight means that today your muscles are breaking down toxins.”

They both lay there for a moment longer. Neither man willing to break apart. Neither of them willing to admit just how much they enjoyed the closeness. After a while though, John’s situation made things difficult. His cock wouldn’t soften, and the damp between his cheeks was only growing worse. Though he was loathed to move away from Sherlock’s embrace, unsure if he’d ever be allowed to be this close to the Alpha again, necessity required him to change and use the bathroom.

"I erm... need a change of trousers... and for you to look away so I can get up without completely embarrassing myself."

“Mm, I’ll make coffee.” Sherlock nods and lets John go before getting up, shuffling out to the kitchen. “Do you not remember last night?” He asks, filling the coffee filter with a few scoops of coffee.

"Bits and pieces..." John admits softly, following Sherlock through the kitchen. He felt grateful that Sherlock doesn’t turn around, giving him privacy as he heads up to his room.

"I'll be down in a moment... fresh clothes.." he says haltingly, heading up to his room where the window is still wide open.

Shutting the window he strips out of his soiled bottoms and slips on another pair of old and well broken in pyjamas. He'll need a shower, and by now those sex toys Sherlock had bought him were starting to sound appealing, but for now, he wanted tea, and just a few minutes to enjoy the lazy morning.

Sherlock waits for the coffee to drip, meanwhile, he decides to make toast. “Which pieces?”

Sitting on the chair with the cushion, John thinks. "I remember the movie and snacks. Then there was the whole handcuffing you to the radiator. Not sure I'll ever forget that." He frowns a bit.

"You left... and I don't remember what I did, but my bedding is under my window, which suggests I was attempting to get fresh air. "You came home late, then... there was blood, and judging by the bruise on your face it was yours?"

“Some of it.” Sherlock nods and sets a plate of toast in front of John with butter and jam so he can make it how he likes. He pours them both a coffee and tells John what happened the night before. “The face you made when you smelled Mycroft on me was priceless.” He snorts.

"If I recall...." John says around a smile, "He smells like lemons that have been left out in the sun for too long." John slathers butter, then jam, onto his toast and nibbles around the edge, eating the crust first. "She's alright then? Did my contact help? Or was there another option?"

“It went as well as we could have hoped.” Sherlock nods. “She’ll be alright. Your contact is going to make sure she has somewhere safe and secure to stay.”

"Mm good."

John shifts on the chair, wincing as another trickle of slick dampens his seat. "I hate this part..." He groans, pushing his half-eaten toast aside and laying his forehead on the table.

Sherlock frowns. “I got some absorbent pads as well if you need them..” He says softly, not wanting to upset John.

"Not sure I can tolerate pants right now... but if this gets any worse I'll have to suck it up."

"I'm going to go lay down..." Taking one final bite of his toast he picks up his mug and carries his coffee into the living room, where he promptly curls up on the sofa.

Sherlock finishes his coffee and cleans up from breakfast. “Is there anything I can do?” He asks, sipping a fresh cup of coffee as he walks into the living room.

"Bond me, fuck me, knot me, and make this all go away..." John quips then winces as a wave of cramps hits.

"Cuddling helped, but I don't want you trapped in your bed all day. You're probably already sick of being cooped up with me"

“Ask me when you’re not in the throes of a heat.” Sherlock snorts. “What if I drag the mattress out here and we can watch something on the new projector?”

"Wouldn't it be easier just to move the projector?" John grunts, then reaches for the heating pad Sherlock had bought for him.

"I'm not the genius here, but that makes more sense."

“We can open the windows out here so you can get more fresh air.” Sherlock counters and sets his coffee mug down before plugging in the heating pad.

John grimaces at the living room. It would take a bit of effort to move everything in order to fit the mattress, but Sherlock wasn't wrong. Fresh air would help, and the two windows out here, versus the one they each had in their bedrooms, would allow for better circulation.

"Yeah, alright... Just, let me help?"

“It’s fine. I’ll just roll you onto the mattress.” Sherlock moves the furniture around and brings the mattress out, setting it in front of the couch so they could sit with their backs against the couch if they wanted. He opens the window, letting the fresh air in. “Ready when you are.”

"Stubborn git," John grumbles, though the smile on his face lets Sherlock know he's anything but grumpy. "We should watch something you like this time. What about unsolved mysteries?"

“Alright.” Sherlock smiles and gets them both some water and settles onto the mattress.

Joining him, John instantly curled up on his side, his head finding Sherlock's chest and finding it the perfect pillow. While Sherlock searched for something for John to watch, and him to shout at, John thought back over the last day and a half.

Since taking up the flatshare they'd been forced to pretend to be a couple. That meant going out of their way to touch each other as a couple might in front of Mrs. Hudson. Gentle touches, or passing brushes of hands against arms as they passed each other.

At first, it had required thought. But within a few weeks, John had found he did it automatically. He'd even noticed the jolt of excitement he'd feel when Mrs. Hudson would come up for a visit, and Sherlock would gravitate closer to him.

Now, knowing what it felt like to have Sherlock's arms around him, holding him tight, and sleeping next to the man. (Okay, sleeping on top of Sherlock, if he were being completely accurate.) John wasn't sure those casual touches would be enough for him anymore.

"I can't remember... real or a dream, Mycroft mentioned something about me needing to get registered again?"

“Unfortunately real.” Sherlock sighs. “He has to stick his fat nose into everything. Especially where it doesn’t belong. He’s worried about me getting into legal trouble.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m not even worried about it.”

"But I am. We both could face some serious problems... Did he tell you that I can't get medical care, emergency or otherwise until I'm registered? I can get the basics through the army, of course... but." John shrugs against Sherlock's chest and sighs.

"I'll have to figure something out. Been toying with calling that number I gave you. One call, they'd pair me with an Alpha who would bond me, and then we'd never see each other again. He'd get all my legal requests, and just sign off on everything. Not ideal, but it's better than a forced bond where I'm stuck living with them."

A deep angry growl slips from Sherlock’s throat before he can stop it. “Sorry..” He apologizes, not having meant to growl like that.

"Mmm don't be sorry, I rather share that sentiment," John says gently while inwardly his chest puffs at the rich sound. It was nice to have someone angry on his behalf. Normally people just gave him a pitying glance and placating words of apology.

“What if..” Sherlock starts and then stops, thinking. “What if you registered with me?”

"Could do... but they'd need proof of a bond. Not sure how we'd get around that mountain of a detail." John nudges his nose along Sherlock's chest, "though... it isn't the worst idea. Quite possibly my best option. If I ended up in the A&E, that'll probably mean we were on a case, and you'd be by my side anyways. On hand for any paperwork.. so to speak."

Sherlock nods. “We could fake it. Prosthetics for a bond mark.” He rubs his fingers through John’s hair.

"What if I don't want to fake it" almost slips out before John clamps his mouth shut and just nods. Sherlock's offer was quite possibly the best offer he'd ever receive, and he didn’t want to ruin it by scaring his friend off.

"Hit play," he says instead, leaning into the feeling of long fingers dancing across his head.

“I..” Sherlock blinks. “I’ve never thought about having an Omega but if I did I’d want one like you.” He says softly as he presses play.

"Mmm.." John hums, opting for pleasant but noncommittal. He wants to turn around and press their chests together, then their mouths. To taste those lips that so often speak harsh but brilliant words. Instead, he focuses on the cheesy crime show and settles for nuzzling a bit closer, adjusting the heating pad so it covers his stomach.

Sherlock talks back to the show about how they’re all idiots and wrong while he gently massages John’s scalp. “Honestly I don’t know how any crime ever gets solved unless the perpetrator is standing there red-handed on film with eyewitnesses and holding their confession.”

"Greg would love that," John says with a laugh, then suddenly he's curling up and whimpering. His stomach cramps, deep shooting pains that go from his ribs to his groin, he feels like he's being flayed open. Slick oozes out of him, leaving him feeling undignified and wrecked as he struggles to think past the cramps.

Sherlock frowns. He rolls John onto his stomach and makes sure he stays in the heating pad. He moves behind John and massages his lower back. “It’s getting worse, John. Tell me what to do.”

"Not sure... my body is fighting back. It's been..." He whimpers a bit and tries to think, "ten years since my last heat. Not enough is known about Omega's who suppress their biology long term. It just... isn't done."

John grits his teeth through the cramps and laughs pitifully, "I'd be an interesting case to study... you should take notes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment and let us know what you think!


	9. When the dam breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John suffers and Sherlock tries to make things better...

“You’re not a subject. You’re in pain.”Sherlock says around a frown, “Should I get the toys?” He begins massaging John’s back and hips. “You feel so tense.”

"God no. They're a last-ditch effort. But at this rate, I'll be out of clean clothes by the end of the day..." Grunting John does his best to focus on Sherlock's fingers. "That... helps."

“I’ll do laundry. And you can borrow mine.” Sherlock keeps massaging.

"Fuck me..." John groans, more swearing than actually asking to be fucked. No one had warned him that it would be this bad, but then again it wasn't as if cases like John's were normal.

Most Omegas who joined the military ended up bonded to someone in their unit. As a couple, they'd be given furlough every six months to copulate. The omega was expected to refrain from getting pregnant until they were no longer on active duty, but it gave their body a chance to regulate.

John had opted out of that option. Then there was the simple fact that no one, aside from his CO, knew he was an Omega. Being a doctor allowed him the privilege of showering in the hospital, and private quarters. Both of which helped him maintain his secret.

Sherlock takes off his shirt and hands it to John before continuing to massage. He works down John’s leg, over his back, and back down the other leg. “I’m sorry. I’m sure being close to an Alpha isn’t making this better. Maybe I should leave you be.”

"I think it would be worse, knowing I'm alone." John grunts, stuffing the soft shirt as close to his nose as he can without actually shoving it _by_ his nose. "You help... your scent helps. Please don't leave me alone." From their vantage point, he can see the bag containing the toys, a low growl fills his chest. “Not with them. I will not be reduced to fucking myself with a synthetic cock."

“What if I fuck you with it?” Sherlock asks, leaning in and scenting John by scrubbing his face along the back of John’s neck.

"I don't want them. God, Sherlock." John growls out, rubbing his neck against Sherlock's face. "I want you, can't you see that? But it would be incredibly stupid because anything right now would result in me carrying your pups. And while I'm not against the idea, I need time to think, to process everything without having to pick out baby names."

“When your heat is over we’ll discuss it.” Sherlock nuzzles his scent gland. “What can I do to help you now?”

"We'll discuss it? You're not saying no.." John practically melts into the mattress with relief. He'd been so worried over losing the constant touches and kindness from the Alpha, that his body had reacted to the stress by intensifying his symptoms. As he relaxed, the cramps subsided and he let out a sigh. "Just... keep rubbing me. Erm, my back, that is. Unless... no bad idea."

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, John. I can’t say no to you. We’ll talk when you’re able to consent and have a coherent conversation.” Sherlock keeps rubbing. “It’s not a bad idea if it helps. Where do you want my hands?”

"Anywhere... everywhere. I want to feel you touch every inch of my body, and I want to touch yours." John says, closing his eyes and humming at the feel of Sherlock's fingers pressing into tender muscles.

“You can touch me, John. Any way you’d like.” Sherlock works his hands over John's tight muscles, making sure to keep them from his crotch or arse.

At Sherlock's words, John lets out a low mewling noise. He surges forward, pulling himself up into his elbow quick as a flash, then acts before Sherlock has time to react. Using his legs for leverage he grips Sherlock's biceps and flips him onto his back, laying him flat against the mattress. John straddles Sherlock's hips and moans when his cock presses up against Sherlock's groin.

"Fuck..." Leaning forward he places his forehead against Sherlock's chest and shudders.

It's hard to keep his hips still, but he manages and after a long moment he sits up, placing both his palms on Sherlock's chest he begins letting his fingers explore over pale skin.

Sherlock smiles up at him, a blush over his cheeks at being manhandled. “You can grind against me if you need to. I won’t stop you.” He rubs his hands over John’s thighs.

"Mm probably a bad idea," John groans, "not sure I can control myself if I start that. Let me just touch you for now. Put your hands on my back."

Sherlock nods, pressing his big warm hands to John’s back. “Have you ever touched an Alpha like this John? Ever imagined an Alpha would submit to your needs?”

"I've never been touched by an Alpha at all," John admits, rolling his back against the broad hands splayed against his skin. He drags his fingers across the various scars on Sherlock's body.

"I never let myself show as an Omega. It was embarrassing for my family to have me go into heat. My heats have been suppressed since a young age, and I've done all I can to pass as a beta." John scoffs, his face going sour. "Can't get the wrong attention if you just hide your whole life."

“You don’t have to hide anymore, John. You don’t have to hide from me. I’ll keep you safe. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” Sherlock promises, on hand coming up and rubbing against John’s scent gland in his neck.

They may have started out faking their relationship but after a few weeks into the ruse, Sherlock had told Lestrade the truth. Not only did he tell him that it was fake but he also told Lestrade that he wishes it wasn’t. How he was afraid to lose John by being too Sherlock or that John would leave him for someone else.

“I’ve never.. I’ve never wanted anyone as close to me as you are. People are so stupid and hateful, John. But you. You’re brilliant. You’re so strong and brave. You make me laugh until it hurts. I can’t imagine working or living without you. You’ve become a center point of my life. I was adrift and I didn’t even know it until you limped into my view and changed everything. I said it before, I’m at your mercy.” He rubs John’s back and hips. He knew John’s pheromones were affecting him. He couldn’t feel it. But if anything they made it easier for him to say what he’d been holding back instead of making up, or suppressing feelings.

"I.. I want to kiss you. For real. Not just a quick peck for our land lady's sake" John sighs, his hips rolling against Sherlock as if acting on their own free will.

“It stopped being fake for me weeks ago, John.” Sherlock blushes, angling his hips a bit so John can get better friction.

John surges forward at Sherlock's admission. With his chest flat against Sherlock's chest, he plants one hand beside Sherlock's face, the other hand cupping stubbly skin. He rubs their noses together, then presses his thin lips against Sherlock's full lips. He moans upon contact, hips sliding and his left hand playing with Sherlock's jawline. The moment is bliss, and John finds himself wanting to stay like that, never to move again.

Sherlock wraps his arms tight around John, holding him close as they kiss. He pulls back just enough to lick at John’s neck. “When this heat is over we’ll talk. We’ll figure out what we both want. What we need. For now, I’m going to kiss you as my life depends on it.” He mumbles, his voice rumbling deep in his chest before he kisses John again.

John gasps as Sherlock's tongue slides over his neck. It's the first time an Alpha has ever touched him there. He shivers and falls into Sherlock's words, wrapping the promise around him like a blanket.

"My life does depend on it," He says greedily, and while it isn't exactly true, it feels right. Every fiber of his body is screaming to be close to Sherlock, to touch and be touched.

Sherlock's tongue slides across his lips and he parts them, letting it dip inside him. Their first breach of two becoming one. Sherlock gently teases and explores John’s mouth with his tongue, his fingers finding their way to John’s hair and pulling just enough to make him groan. He holds John’s hip in his other hand and rocks his hips up against John’s. He can feel John’s slick starting to dampen his pants.

"Sherlock..." John gasps, rolling his lower half against the grip and the friction. "I... I want to come, is that okay?"

His body desperately needs another orgasm, even if achieved without any form of internal stimulants. It feels good, amazing even, to have those long fingers digging into his hips, ghosting over skin, every now and then dipping below his waistband. He can feel Sherlock's length against him, hard and hot, the heady scent of Sherlock's matching desire filling his nose.

John breaks away from the kiss and gives into his most basic instinct. He rubs his neck and cheeks against Sherlock's body, his neck, his chest, his face. He wants Sherlock to smell like him, to claim him so the rest of the Omegas knew that this Alpha was courting someone else.

Sherlock groans, rubbing his face against John’s neck. “Will you come on me? Mark me? Claim me? Make sure all the other Omega’s know I’m yours? I want that. Please, John.”

"Yeah... yeah." John husks out, swallowing a lump of emotion as he reaches down and fumbles with his trousers. He manages to get them partially off, hanging on by one leg only. He doesn’t care, it's enough to free his cock, and that’s all that matters. He wants to see Sherlock's cock, compare them and rub their erections together, but just the simple act of touching himself is already sending him over the edge.

Reaching between his legs he gathers some of his slick on his fingertips and coats his cock with it. It takes less than a dozen strokes before he's shaking and crying Sherlock's name. Milky come oozes from his tip and drips onto Sherlock's taught stomach, the sight causing John to growl through his ecstasy. Once he's spent, he slides his fingers through the mess on Sherlock's stomach and hums appreciatively, smearing it into Sherlock's skin and enjoying the way their two scents combine.

Sherlock growls, not one of anger or aggression but of need and want. “Mine. My Omega. I’ll be your Alpha. I’ll be so good to you. Whatever you need. Whatever you want. Yours. All yours.” He licks his lips as he watches John come.

Sherlock's words cloud John's judgment. He'd long scoffed at silly Omegas who bend over backward at being claimed. But now hearing those words, he finds he wants to hear them again and again.

Without thinking he moves until He's sitting on Sherlock's calves. He paws at the waistband of Sherlock's pyjamas and claws them down to his thighs. His cock is hard, and massive, the perfect specimen of Alpha. There's no swollen knot, telling John that above all odds Sherlock has retained some control over himself.

He leans forward and rubs his cheek against the firm velvety skin, then wraps his lips around its crown. He glances up, his intention clear. He wants to taste Sherlock, taste the Alpha who'd been kind when others would claim and take.

“You can do whatever you’d like. But I won’t fuck you. Not yet. Not until we’re both sane and clear-headed.” Sherlock groans, his cock hard and pulsing.

It takes a bit more effort than it had for himself, but before long he can smell the change in Sherlock. He was close, and John wanted every ounce of come inside him. And if the Alpha wouldn't fuck it into him, then he'd just have to swallow it. Wrapping one hand around the base, John moves his head faster, sucking harder and rolling his tongue. He can't fit Sherlock fully into his mouth, but he does his best.

“John... John... John!” Sherlock babbles and chants, John’s name, a plea, and a prayer on his lips. His cock throbs for John and soon it’s all too much. John’s smell, his warmth, his attention, his mouth. It’s too much. Then Sherlock is coming, filling John's mouth with his hot potent come.

John's Omega side sings and preens as Sherlock's come bursts into his mouth and throat. He swallows, not wanting to waste a single drop. He sucks until Sherlock is thoroughly spent and is twitching below him. Only then does John let Sherlock's softening cock slide from his mouth. He climbs off of Sherlock's legs and curls up against Sherlock's side, closing his eyes and humming happily.

"Maybe... I'll let you use those toys on me, if I get to do that again." He says smugly, enjoying the way his Alpha tastes in his mouth.

“Mm, I’ll do anything you want. As soon as I can feel my body again.” Sherlock slurs a bit as he wraps his arm around John. He hadn’t come in years and he certainly never came like that.

Tugging John impossibly close he nuzzles her hair and scents him, wanting John to be smothered in him. “How are you feeling?”

"Mmm..." John thinks, consulting his body with a sluggish inward gaze, "better, I think. Orgasms help, you help. Was that.. okay? I should have asked."

“If that’s what orgasms are supposed to feel like, maybe I’ll partake more.” Sherlock kisses John’s head. “It was phenomenal.”

"Mmm, they can be nice, if shared with the right person. Solo missions are a bit like finding cheese in the fridge and planning a meal around it, just to find out the cheese is mouldy."

John nuzzles close and drags a blanket up over their exposed bodies.

"Going to have a nap, wake me if the flat catches on fire."

“I’ll just carry you out.” Sherlock rubs his fingers through John’s hair.

John grins as he falls asleep, the thought of Sherlock carrying a naked Omega through flames somehow felt perfectly them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment and let us know what you think!


	10. The "talk"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With John's pseudo heat behind them, they discuss bonding and what that means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying this! We have a fun twist coming up soon! - Tindo

John sleeps for the better part of an hour, and when he wakes he finds the cramps have subsided and a dry uncomfortable feeling tells him he's stopped producing slick.

"Sherlock?" he groans, lifting a head and finding the Alpha watching him. He can still taste Sherlock in his mouth, so he doesn't have to ask if the blow job was real. Instead, he just gives the Alpha a small smile, then nuzzles his face against his chest.

“Your heat seems to have broken.” Sherlock rubs Johns's back. “You stopped smelling so strong about twenty minutes ago. How do you feel?”

"I've been better, but I've also been worse. My arms don't ache from fucking myself. Can't imagine that would have done my shoulder any favours." John sighs and shifts under the blanket. He needs the bathroom, but at the same time, he doesn't want to leave Sherlock's side.

Sherlock nods. “How about I order us some takeaway and we can share a shower while it’s on the way?” He offers, knowing John needs to eat and his alpha instincts wanting to provide for his omega.

"There's still half of yesterday's curry in the fridge... get something that pairs with it, like.. more curry." John says with a grin, as the words "we, share and shower" sink in.

"Please tell me you enjoy hot showers that melt your skin off."

“More curry.” Sherlock chuckles and gets his phone, sending a text for the order. “I’ll boil the water myself if you want.” He snorts.

Kicking off his pyjamas, which still clung to one leg, John gets up and stretches, unashamed of being naked in broad daylight.

He gets to the bathroom first, and steps into the shower, flicking the water on, he ramps up the hot water and stands under the spray while waiting for Sherlock.

Once the Alpha has joined him, he gives Sherlock a few moments under the water, then crowds him against the shower wall.

"I remember everything, every nice thing you did for me. Every promise, every touch." He whispers, lips ghosting along with Sherlock's ear. "You, Sherlock Holmes, are one very sexy Alpha."

“Good because I meant every word.” Sherlock runs his hands over John's wet hot skin. He teases his fingertips over John's low back, nearly touching his arse.

"I want you to bond me... during my next heat. I want you, Sherlock." John says, his eyes fluttering closed under Sherlock's touches.

"If you're willing, I'll skip my suppressants, let myself have a natural, unhindered heat, and we can bond... become one. And if you're willing, we'll have to have a serious talk about expectations, children, shared spaces... ownership.." The last word slides off John's tongue like acrid grease, but there is little he can do about it.

Once bonded, legally his rights turnover and belong to his Alpha, it wasn't ideal, but he felt safe in Sherlock's hands.

“I would not be owning you, John. If anything you’d be owning me. You’re the more stable, more human one.” Sherlock nuzzles him. “I want to bond with you. Not bond you to me but us to each other. We’ll still solve cases and eat takeaway. You’ll still have rows with the chip n pin machine and I’ll still make a mess of the flat. Nothing has to change so dramatically. We’ll just be each other, formally and legally. I have no interest in owning you or being your warden. You’re a grown man who can certainly take care of himself. The jury is still out on me on that account.” He chuckles softly.

"Yeah well, try telling the government that," John laughs, nuzzling along Sherlock's wet neck.

"Just sign the damned paper. It'll be like our secret, getting one up on the governing body of idiots."

Sherlock hums softly, thinking. “You may be on to something there, John..”

"Course I am." John giggles then reaches behind Sherlock for the bottle of expensive body wash.

He squeezes a palm-full of the blue gel into his hand then replaces the bottle. Lathering it up between his hands he looks up at Sherlock and shrugs.

"Lots of mates do it... If they're true mates. The Alpha understands that it's a joint bonding, and just signs the bloody paperwork so the government leaves them alone. I think... I'd be able to call you my mate. It feels right, saying it even now."

John places his palms on Sherlock's chest and begins working the rich lather over Sherlock's body. When he reaches the spot where his come had been, he smiles and skips over the area, wanting to preserve some of his scent on Sherlock's body.

“But the paperwork goes one way. The alpha assumes control of the omega. What if we did it both ways?” Sherlock relaxes under John’s touch.

"It doesn't exist." John shrugged. "Not that I haven't thought about that, but it would take reforming the whole system."

John guides Sherlock to turn, so he can soap up his back, and arse, hands moving automatically with his familiarity with the human body.

"Sure, such a proposition would be met with praise and welcomed arms by so many. But the upper class, those with money and power, would squash any rays of hope before any new bill even had the chance to be voted on. People have tried, Alphas like you, who understand that I'm human, not a baby factory."

John sighs and presses a kiss to the back of Sherlock's shoulder.

"But it never passes. The rich like owning things and that includes Omegas. What would they do if they couldn't own something they'd grown accustomed to having their whole life?"

“You're thinking too large scale. Just because the law doesn’t have a statute for it doesn’t mean we can’t do it. We can draft our own contract within the bonding contract. There are always amendments in bonding paperwork, usually for the benefit of the alpha. We can make our own amendments and add whatever we like. It’ll set a new president and they won’t be able to change it because it is a contract between a private citizen and their intended mate.” Sherlock lets John do as he likes.

"Could work," John muses, dipping his hands low over Sherlock's body, fingers skimming his inner thighs.

"It would require a good lawyer from a firm that's been around ages. If the wrong Alpha is set to record our contract, and he reads the terms, he might push back."

John's fingers dip between Sherlock's arse cheeks, then back down his thighs before John is turning them so his back is pressed against the wall and Sherlock standing under the water.

“I’d rather not involve my brother but he would have the connections.” Sherlock sighs. He reaches out for the shower gel and starts to rub sudsy hands over John. “You mentioned children..”

"Yeah well... with me it's a biological possibility. Most suppressors have a contraceptive in them, but there are some that don't."

John closes his eyes and sighs as Sherlock's hands roam over him.

"I've never really given it much thought, figured I'd never meet an Alpha worth two shits, so it didn't pertain to me."

Sherlock washes and massages John's shoulders as he listens to him. “What about now? Are pups something that you’d want?”

"Erm," John stops and thinks. Imagining what life would be like with the sounds of shrieking children running about. "It isn't a terrible thought, as long as they're half yours. But I'm not exactly jumping up and down at the thought of rushing into it."

He cracks a grin, remembering Sherlock's complaint the previous night.

"You could train them to solve crimes, send them off as interns to teach those coppers from that show how to solve a murder. They'd be smart, just like you, of that I'm sure."

“They’d be able to take over the Yard before they were out of nappies.” Sherlock smirks. “And I’m not the only smart one, John. You’re a doctor, a brilliant surgeon. A lifesaver. I may be smart but they’d have your kindness and compassion as well. Maybe just a bit of your temper.” He chuckles.

He works his hands down John’s body, washing away the dried slick.

“But you’re right. I’m certainly in no rush. It’ll probably take me quite some time to figure out how to be in a relationship let alone take care of a pup.” He says softly.

"It's... interesting," John sighs, enjoying Sherlock's fingers gliding over his arse and thighs. He arches into the touch and continues, his voice a bit more husky, "Imagining what a human would be like having both of our traits. One minute they'd be pouting and throwing a Sherlock-sized temper tantrum, the next they'd be stomping their foot demanding an ice lolly at the top of their lungs."

He smiles a little, realizing he wasn't totally against the idea of children. He still had a few more childbearing years left in him, and he felt a small clench in the pit of his stomach.

"I'm going to need time to adjust to this as well. Years of fighting off my body's need for an Alpha is going to make this tough. I might snap at you, and push you away once in a while. If I do, I'm sorry..."

“I’ve never been in any kind of relationship before so I’m sure I will screw up plenty.” Sherlock hums as he finishes washing John, watches the suds slowly slide down John’s skin. “If you don’t ever want pups that’s fine. If you do we’ll talk about it when the time comes.”

John smiles and nods then reaches for Sherlock's shampoo. Afraid of getting it in Sherlock's eyes, he washes his own hair and passes the bottle over.

"Maybe someday." He agrees, amazed at how easy it had been to reach an agreement on a topic that caused so many fights. "I'll make sure to get a contraceptive today and start taking it right away. That way there are no accidents with my next heat."

Leaning his head under the spray of water he washes the shampoo from his hair then says, "What about normal heats... they're roughly every three months, though my body might be a bit out of sync. Do you want me to have them, or should I take suppressants again after we bond?"

“That is completely up to you. It is your body and your heats. I don’t have any right to tell you how you should manage them.” Sherlock tips his head under the spray, washing the shampoo out. “I will say that I think after being on suppressants for so long and your body’s reaction to this heat that maybe you should try going suppressant-free and see how that works for you. If it’s too much you can go back on suppressants. Whatever you choose I’ll support you.”

"Could be inconvenient... if we're on a case." John sighs, "I can't control when they happen, just if they happen."

He thinks about it and nods, letting Sherlock have his turn with the water.

"But you're right. I should let my body normalize a bit. Those military-grade suppressors are something else. Work like a charm, but they clearly fucked with me. I wasn't even supposed to have a heat, it was just supposed to be a period of discomfort that I was supposed to wait out, then swap brands."

“Cases hold. And if it won’t then someone else can solve it unless it’s dire. We’ll just keep an eye out and see if your heats fall into a cycle. Either way, we can work it out. I can review evidence while you’re sleeping between rounds.” Sherlock shrugs as he rinses.

"You make it sound so... simple." John glances over at Sherlock before stepping out of the shower. "Thank you."

“I don’t like struggling. Every situation has an answer and can be resolved. If you’re going to be my omega that makes you more important than the Work.” Sherlock says and then blinks, never having thought anything would be more important than the work let alone an omega.

"That sounds... strange." John laughs, grabbing a second towel he passes it to Sherlock. "But I can see by your stunned expression that it's genuine."

Wrapping the towel around his hips, he grabs his toothbrush and begins washing the fuzzy feeling off his teeth. He'll need to go upstairs and change, but for now, he's happy staying in the humid warmth of the bathroom while they wait for food to arrive.

Sherlock nods as he dries himself. “I’ve never thought of anything besides the work. I mean drugs for a bit there but that was just between cases to fill the void. I’m not sure what this means exactly.”

"Neither am I, if that makes you feel any better," John says around a mouthful of toothpaste. He spits into the sink then pops the toothbrush back into his mouth.

"My whole life I've been running from Alphas. Avoiding communal showers, or contact sports... God, I missed rugby. We got a good team going back in Afghanistan. With those blockers I could play again, that was heaven."

Spitting again, he rinses off his toothbrush and leans against the sink.

"I avoided any scenario that would out me as being anything other than a Beta. Even though it was hard explaining how a bonded Alpha and Omega produced a beta, it was easier than saying what I truly was. I would have been sold off, Sherlock... become the property of one of London's elitists. Men like your brother..."

Sherlock growls at the mention of his brother, like a spectator over their happiness. “Sorry. He just pisses me off. We’ve been having this fight since I woke up in the hospital after getting the shit beat out of me in school”

"Siblings, huh?" John says, rolling his eyes. "You should meet Harry. She claims I drove her to drink by my refusal to accept who I was."

Pushing himself up off the sink John runs his hand over Sherlock's jaw. "I like the stubble... it's rugged."

With that, he lets his hand drop and heads upstairs for clothes. Catching sight of the mess in the sitting room he smiles. The effort Sherlock had gone to in order to make him comfortable made his heart flutter and butterflies take root in his stomach.

Sherlock looks at himself in the mirror as he brushes his teeth. He decides not to shave and keeps the stubble, he would deny it had anything to do with John. He got dressed and was just about done fixing his hair when the food delivery arrived downstairs. He headed down and got the food when he heard the knock.

Dressed in comfortable trousers, and a cotton t-shirt, John joins Sherlock in the kitchen.

He smiles at the dark stubble on Sherlock's chin but doesn't say anything.

While Sherlock lays the new food out, he goes to the fridge and re-heats the curry from earlier.

"So... I um, gave you a blowjob." John says the moment Sherlock places a fork full of food in his mouth. "Good?" He asks, letting Sherlock decide if he meant the blowjob or the food.

“John, I couldn’t feel my legs for a good five minutes. I think that means it was very good.” Sherlock blushes a bit. “No one has ever done that for me before.”

John grins, then tucks into his meal. "Good."

While he eats, he finds himself thankful for the way things had turned out. If Sherlock had taken offense to his biology, things would have been incredibly different right now. He might not even have a home anymore.

When half his meal is gone, he looks up and catches Sherlock's eye.

"Can I call you 'my Alpha' even before we bond? Or... would you like time to get used to this?"

“In my head, I’m already referring to you as my omega, an unconscious switch on my part, so whatever you’d like.” Sherlock nods as he rips a section of naan and uses it to scoop some food. “My brother is going to be insufferable about this.” He rolls his eyes.

"Let's not tell him until we need him to babysit," John says, his lips quirking up into a smirk.

“Knowing his goons he’d probably know you were carrying a pup before you did.” Sherlock snorts. “And besides if we ever need a babysitter he is the last on the list behind Molly and Mrs. Hudson and my homeless network.”

"Mm you'd know before I knew." John countered, still smiling at the thought of dropping a screaming child into the lap of Mycroft Holmes. It would be an added bonus if said child came with a full nappy.

"My scent would change almost instantly. Might take you a week or two to notice, but you'll know long before I can sense the change."

Finishing his food, John scoops a bit more curry onto his plate and swipes some Naan through the sauce.

"So, what do we do in the meantime, while we wait for my next heat? Go back to normal? I go back to my room, you to yours? We... what? Kiss occasionally?"

“First we register together and get that out of the way so neither you nor I get in trouble. Then we make our own bond contact.” Sherlock finishes his last bite. “I would like kisses to be a bit more often than occasional.” He can’t help the blush creeping over his high cheekbones.

"Me too... and I'd like to not always sleep alone," John adds, feeling his face mirroring Sherlock's blush.

"I enjoyed sleeping beside you."

“As do I.” Sherlock smiles. “You also haven’t had any nightmares while we’ve been sharing sleeping arrangements.”

John pauses, his mouth hanging open. It was true, normally his heats came with terrible nightmares. Before ware they were scenarios of less than favourable situations where he'd been caught out on the cusp of his heat, unable to seek shelter as bodies closed in around him.

After war, they'd morphed into strange scenarios where his former friends would rise from the dead and blame him for being an Omega for the reason they weren't still alive.

"Not one," he breathed.

“That’s a good thing. Right?” Sherlock asks softly, looking a bit unsure.

"Amazing." John nods.

They share a small smile, then John stretches his foot out under the table, making contact with Sherlock's. And it was enough.

Both their bodies leaned into the touch. Sherlock's other foot stretched out and met his. They sat like that for a while, talking softly about their hopes for the future, and of past cases.

When the food was gone, John tried not to make a big deal over Sherlock offering to help clean up. Instead, he just passed Sherlock the tea towel and let him dry the dishes.

When the kitchen was cleaned up, they tackled the living room together, replacing Sherlock's mattress to its proper place, replacing the furniture, and mostly shutting the windows.

A passerby below sniffed hard, and glanced up as John leaned out to grab the window, he smirked up at him, a knowing look on his face.

John found he didn't hate being looked at like an Omega. It was fine, as long as he was Sherlock's omega.

Sherlock goes to John and looks out the window. He snarls when he sees the man down on the sidewalk. “Keep moving or I’ll cut you from cock to chin!” He snaps.

John barks out a laugh and pulls Sherlock back into the flat.

"Alright, Alpha, calm your tits."

Leaning up on tiptoes he pressed a kiss to Sherlock's cheek.

Sherlock leans in and nuzzles John, resting his hands on his hips. “Sorry. That may have been a bit overboard.”

"Perhaps, a bit." John agrees though he's smiling. "I don't mind, but let's not go alienating our neighbors.

“There you go being socially conscious again.” Sherlock teases and smiles.

"One of us has to be."

Giggling he wraps his arms around Sherlock's middle and pulls him tight against his chest.

"Now what? We just waltz into the nearest registration office and demand a blank contract form?"

“We could and time how long it takes my brother to arrive.” Sherlock snorts.

"Let's do that tomorrow. I have a better idea. You said you'd touch me after my heat is over. Well, it's over."

John raises an eyebrow at Sherlock and nods towards his bedroom.

"There's a lovely, freshly made bed that I would love to mess up."

Sherlock blushes and nods. “Perhaps it’s too fresh and clean.”

"Oh?" John stops. Planting both hands on his hips he quirks his head up at Sherlock. "Is that your way of saying that one orgasm is good enough this year?"

“No, I just-“ Sherlock starts.

 ** _“SHERLOCK HOLMES!_** You get down here this instant!” Mr. Hudson calls from downstairs.

John and Sherlock share a look, and then John shrugs.

"After you, she sounds mad. I'll let my big scary Alpha go first."

Sherlock bites his lip and goes down the stairs.

“Why are there purple stains on my carpet?” Mrs. Hudson points down to the carpet where bright purple stains had marred her carpet.

“Well you see I needed some dye for an experiment and I didn’t know that the bottle had a hole.” Sherlock looks apologetic. “I did try to scrub them out.”

John stands back and crosses his arms over his chest. He does his absolute best not to smile, or show that he's getting any enjoyment out of Sherlock being cowed by a small elderly Beta woman, but truthfully, he was thoroughly enjoying it.

"Do I even want to know why you needed purple dye, or *when* you needed it... you've erm.. been quite busy the last few days."

“The organs you got me.” Sherlock blushes.

“You are going to scrub my carpet and get these drips out. You’re a chemist, you should be able to figure out how to get dye out of fibers.” Mrs. Hudson tsks. “Tea, John?” He leads John to the kitchen.

"Feeling better?" The landlady asks, pushing John into a chair while she fills the kettle.

"Better.. yeah." John stammers, remembering the taste of Sherlock's cock in his mouth. "Just a short bug. Must have picked it up from the clinic."

Sherlock goes about cleaning the carpet.

“Poor thing. Sherlock was so nervous.” Mrs. Hudson pours them both a cup of tea.

"Mmm, came on fast. New tea?" John asks, attempting to steer the conversation away from his supposed illness.

Mrs. Hudson nods and launches into a whole story about how her usual tea wasn’t available at her tea shop and the girl at the counter recommended this one. “But I’m not sure I like this one.” She looks at her cup.

"I like it," John says, smiling kindly at the woman. He looks around her kitchen and spots an old photo of her, a few years younger posing beside a tall man with curly dark hair. Though his skin has some color, and his chin a little less refined, he recognizes Sherlock instantly. A thought comes to him, and he bites his lip.

"While his nibs is busy..." John whispers, "You've known Sherlock for a long time... Was it a surprise to you, to learn he and I were a couple? Has he had relationships in the past? He says he hasn't, and I'm inclined to believe him.. but.. You know, curious minds, and all that."

“I’ve known Sherlock for a long time. He helps me with some sticky business with my late husband.” Mrs. Hudson sips her tea. “I was surprised when he said he had someone. He kept the details vague, at first, I thought he was shaming. But then you showed up with him and I’ve never seen a better match.” She smiles. “He’s never brought anyone home or anything like that. Before he got clean..” She thinks how to say it delicately.

Sherlock comes into the kitchen and gets swim cleaners from under the sink before going back to the other room.

“Before he got clean his brother cut him off from all the family money. I let him crash at a flat I owned on Montague Street so he’d have somewhere warm and safe to stay. Some people would come and go but they wouldn’t stay very long. I realized that they were drug dealers.” Mrs. Hudson makes a face.

She gets up and gets some biscuits from the cupboard before sitting back down.

“I told him that if he didn’t clean up his act that I wouldn’t speak to him again. He told me he didn’t care and said all sorts of rude things, which I don’t hold against him. I know what drugs do to a person.” She nods, dunking her biscuit into her tea. “He disappeared for about a week before coming back and begging for forgiveness.”

"Addiction is hard. But I'm glad he had you, Mrs. H."

John sits and mulls over the information. He didn't know much about Sherlock's past, aside from that there had been an addiction problem. Then there was whatever was going on between Sherlock and his brother. Part of John just imagined that it was sibling rivalry, as only the Holmes knew how to display.

"I should go make sure he hasn't passed out from fumes. Thanks for the tea."

Finishing the last dregs of his tea John stands and pats the landlady's shoulder. Going out into the other room he leans on the doorframe and watches Sherlock with a small smirk.

"Need any help, or can I just sit here and admire the view. And by view, I mean your arse."

Sherlock blushes as he scrubs, from John's words rather than the exertion from scrubbing. “It’s starting to come up but I don’t think they come out completely.”

"Mm, keep wiggling back and forth like that and something else is going to ... Oh, hello, Mrs. H. Sherlock's got the worst of it up," John says sweetly, hearing the landlady behind him.

She titters about, suggesting a few different cleaning chemicals before leaving the two men alone again.

"Do you get your trousers tailored to your arse just to impress me, or do you just like the way it feels, having them fit you like a second skin."

John feels the growl bubble in his chest and covers it by clearing his throat.

"Sorry, I think I might still be a bit... _ill_ "

Sherlock chuckles softly. “I may wear tighter trousers around you than not.” He smirks a bit. “Oh.” He looks surprised and looks up at John. “Would you like to top?”

"Top... top what?" John says, looking around confused.

“Me.” Sherlock stands. “Would you like to fuck me, John?”

"Oh... top, as in.. in the bedroom."

John rolls his head back, leaning it against the wooden frame of the door, and shrugs.

"That's all I know, aside from toys, I haven't had anyone inside me. Ever. Beta's don't care who's doing the work, as long as everyone has an orgasm. I've had sex, but only with Beta's, and mostly women. I guess.. what I'm trying to say in a very roundabout way, Sherlock." John sighs and lifts his head up, locking his gaze with Sherlock's. "I want to try it all. With you."

Sherlock takes three strides to John and cups his cheek in one hand before leaning in and kissing him.

"Mmm." John hums, dropping his hand onto Sherlock's hip, though he wrinkles his nose at the stink of chemicals on Sherlock's hands. "Finish up here, and meet me upstairs."

Pulling away from Sherlock he slides his hands over Sherlock's arse then heads up the stairs. He goes up the second flight of stairs to his room. He takes his favourite pillow and heads back to Sherlock's room.

Sherlock scrubs for a while longer until all the spots were just a light hue of purple.


	11. Aftershocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's heat isn't ready to give up the ghost yet. Sherlock helps him through one last aftershock.

When Sherlock joins John in his bedroom, John has his pillow stuffed under his head and a nest of blankets wrapped around him. He smiles lazily up from his nest and pats the bed beside him.

"Joining me?"

Sherlock smiles softly and climbs into the nest. “How are you feeling?” He nuzzles John, holding him close.

"Tired, mostly, still a little... erm, horny for lack of a better word." John leans into Sherlock's nuzzling, tilting his head back, giving the alpha access to his neck so he can be scented.

"I love smelling like you," he admits, rubbing the side of his face against the stubble on Sherlock's chin.

Sherlock scents John, kissing his neck gently. “I like it as well. It’s.. satisfying when you smell like me.”

He gently rubs his stubble against John’s jaw, rubbing against his omega. “Can I help with the horny feeling?”

"Mm, perhaps." John grins, rocking his hips against Sherlock's body. "What are you open to? Do you want to just... this," he asks, rutting his erection against Sherlock's. "Or... I'd let you have me."

Sherlock thinks as he kisses John’s neck. “I want to suck your cock and eat your arse.” He mumbles as he licks John’s scent gland.

"God, yes... please." John moans, rolling his head into his pillow, letting Sherlock's nose slide further back along his jawline. "would you?"

“Yes.” Sherlock teasingly drags his teeth over John’s neck before kissing down his body.

John kicks his pants off and pulls away from Sherlock long enough to tear his shirt off. "Clothes... off," he mutters, pawing at Sherlock's shirt.

Sherlock chuckles and strips, naked over his omega.

"Sherlock.." John sigh, their bare chests touching, "I want you inside me, any part of you, please. Tongue, finger, cock. Show me what it feels like, please?"

“I’ll fuck you later when your heat is gone for sure.” Sherlock kisses him deeply before moving down between John’s legs.

John hooks his legs up over Sherlock's shoulders and settles back against the bed. Sherlock nudges his nose against his groin, his cheek sliding against his cock.

"Sherlock, more... please?"

John's voice is a low whisper as if he's scared that a full volume might scare Sherlock off.

Sherlock takes his time, kissing John's cock from base to tip, and watches John for his reactions.

John slams his head back against the pillow and arches his back. Sherlock's mouth is like wildfire, spreading across his cock, his tongue like hot flames, licking their way across his skin. He imagines that every touch leaves a visual mark, a brand showing that Sherlock is claiming his body as his own.

Afraid that, should anyone get too close and see the biological difference, John had (until now) avoided receiving blowjobs. It was one thing to fuck in dim lighting, another to allow someone's head to be inches away from the secret he'd been avoiding since his early teens.

John grips the sheets tight as Sherlock's lips suck in his crown, his tongue sliding along his skin like butter on warm bread.

"Sher..." he gasps, rocking forward and trying to sink his cock deeper into the wet heat. But Sherlock moves with him, chuckling as he maintains the barely-there contact.

"Fuu.." John tries to swear, but the word is lost in his throat when a slender finger glides over his entrance.

So close to his heat, the area is still loose and willing to accept the intrusion. Sherlock's finger slides inside, and John feels a wet rush of slick glide out of him.

"Ahhh." he cries, tense muscles falling limp against the bed as Sherlock slips into the last knuckle, the back of his hand falling flush with his body. "No. one... ever.. just you." He tries to say, but Sherlock's tongue is circling the head of his cock, making John forget words, and how to breathe.

Sherlock rocks his finger slowly, cataloging everyone of John’s reactions to each different movement. There was so much slick and he smelled so good it made Sherlock’s head swim.

_Focus, focus._

Sherlock looks up at John, his pupils blown dark as he slowly bobs his head to take John deeper into his mouth. Omega males usually had small cocks since they weren’t exactly needed but Sherlock was still quite impressed with the side of John’s. He loved the feeling of that hard velvet skin sliding into his mouth, the throbbing of John’s cock over his tongue.

Sherlock pulls back just enough to kiss and suck on the tip as he slides a second finger into John’s desperate leaking hole.

"For the love of God," John croaks, his hips rocking and bucking as if being controlled by someone else.

"If you don't fuck me while I'm still partially open, I swear to god I'm going to fall apart at the seams."

Sherlock's fingers sink in deeper, the tips brushing over his prostate and he cries out in a broken sob.

"I swear, I can consent, I need this. I need to know what it's like to have an Alpha inside me. To have you inside me."

Lifting his head from the pillow John looks down at Sherlock with pleading eyes.

"Please, Sherlock? Please, give this to me?"

Sherlock slowly pulls off John’s cock, trying to think. He knew John was in the last grips of his heat. He knew there was still a possibility of getting John pregnant.

A strangled cry rips from John's throat at the loss of Sherlock's mouth on his cock.

He pushes himself up into a sitting position, dropping his legs from Sherlock's shoulders he gets on his knees and does the one thing he never thought he'd do.

He grabs Sherlock's face in both of his hands and begs.

"Please, Sherlock? I'll be a good Omega for you. It'll feel good, for both of us, I promise. Please?"

“I know, John. I know. Soon. I promise. I’ll get the toys. I’ll fuck you with the toys..” Sherlock kisses John.

John growls in frustration and collapses back against the bed.

He watches, half angry, half turned on, as Sherlock slips from the bed and leaves the room without putting a stitch of clothing on.

When Sherlock returns, bag of toys in hand, John looks up from where he's curled up on his side and asks in a quiet voice, "Why? Am I not good enough?"

“You’re too good for me, John. That’s why I won’t risk screwing things up.” Sherlock says softly sitting on the bed and pulling toys out of the bag.

"Screwing what up?" John's forehead wrinkles as he tries to catch up. "What are you on about? How hard is it to shove a dick inside a wet hole?"

He eyes the toy Sherlock has selected and sighs. It's long and slim but has an inflatable alpha's knot around the base. He knows the type, having used them in the past.

It will do, but this time, he wanted the real thing, to feel Sherlock's warmth inside him would certainly be nothing like a cold and lifeless toy.

“I can still smell a bit of heat on you. Which means neither of us is thinking exactly clearly. It also means I could still get you pregnant.”

_Pregnant_ The word crashes around John like a ton of bricks.

"Oh... shit... You're right, I wasn't thinking clearly. That hadn't even crossed my mind."

John uncurls himself and sits up, wincing as his movement dragged slick across Sherlock's clean sheets.

"Thank you, Sherlock, for thinking of me."

Shuffling on his knees he goes back to kneeling in front of Sherlock, this time resting his head on Sherlock's shoulder.

Looking up, he nudges his nose along Sherlock's jaw. "Kiss me?"

Sherlock holds John close and kisses him gently. “I would love to be inside you. Feeling your tight wet heat wrapped around my cock. But not yet. Soon.” He nuzzles him.

"Yeah, alright. I can wait." John sighs, rubbing their noses together, then their cheeks.

He pulls away and lays back down, knees spread apart. But before Sherlock has time to move an idea comes to him.

"I can still have you inside me, just not... that way. Get over here," he pushes the pillows to the floor and wiggles a bit lower on the bed, "Give me your cock while you fuck me. I can suck you off at the same time."

Sherlock lets John situate him. “I can suck you and fuck you with the toys as well.” He smirks.

"Oh, can you now?" John grins, despite Sherlock not being able to see his face, and slides his hands from Sherlock's arse up his back as far as he can reach.

"Multi-task for me, pretty boy," he whispers, dragging his teeth across Sherlock's pale arse before dipping his head lower and sucking Sherlock's cock into his mouth.

At the same time, Sherlock's fingers re-enter him, drawing a half moan, half sigh from John's lips.

Wiggling his hips a bit, he angles his arse up and is rewarded by a spark of pleasure as Sherlock finds his prostate again.

Sherlock takes John’s cock back into his mouth, sucking in time with his rocking fingers. Once he finds John’s prostate he rubs it gently, continuing the motions that make John keen and tremble.

He picks up the dildo and warms it against his body first before rubbing the fat head against John’s slick hole teasingly.

John's mouth is too full for him to properly complain. Instead, he growls and thrusts his hips up off the bed. The head slides across his hole then skitters over it.

Frustrated, he scrapes just the smallest amount of teeth down Sherlock's cock, and thrusts up into the wet heat of Sherlock's mouth. _More, now please_. He screams internally, his whole body vibrating with desire.

Sherlock chuckles around John’s cock and starts to slide the dildo into his lover.

While not the real thing, it had been years since John had felt anything inside him. His whole body melts as the pleasure washed over him.

His movements become uncoordinated, his head coming to an almost complete standstill with Sherlock's cock still inside his mouth.

After several long seconds, when it becomes apparent that John either can't or won't move, Sherlock's hips begin to move.

With slow, but deep thrusts, Sherlock pushes himself, and the toy, inside John at the same time.

John feels full. Fuller than he's ever been before. That feeling, mixed with the still somehow coordinated movements of Sherlock's mouth, promising to bring him to a quick release.

Sherlock barely has the toy worked up to the knot when John begins to whimper, a poor communication to relay he was about to come, but the only thing he could think of.

Sherlock swallows around John’s cock and presses the dildo deeper, pumping the knot steadily until it was stuck inside John. What John didn’t know is that this model had a special attachment that also released fake cum.

Warmth floods John's insides as his climax takes over. His body twitches and shakes, but Sherlock's body weight holds him in place.

Something foreign and slick pulses inside his hole and with a muffled cry John comes hard against the back of Sherlock's throat.

He can feel Sherlock's knot, for the first time, begin to swell against his lips. John reaches up with one hand and wraps his fingers along the swollen knot, stroking it with his fingers as he rides out the last waves of his orgasm.

There's a growl from between his legs, and suddenly Sherlock's cock slips out of his mouth and lands on his chest with a wet squelch. Warm come oozes over John's chest and stomach, as the smell of Alpha finds a permanent place in his memories.

When he's done, he's thoroughly spent, and it's all he can do to wipe the back of his hand over his mouth, cleaning up saliva and pre-come from his chin.

Sherlock pants and takes a step back to catch his breath. He gently moves John into a more comfortable position on the bed, being careful of the dildo still locked in place. “Alright?” He nuzzles John, scenting him.

"Mmm," John manages, closing his eyes and letting Sherlock rub against the sides of his neck. His head rolls from side to side with the movements, but he's smiling lazily.

He clenches around the toy, imagining it was Sherlock rather than a dildo and nuzzles his nose against the side of Sherlock's head.

"You?"

“Quite alright.” Sherlock nods, sliding his fingers through his cum on John’s chest. His inner alpha all but purring at the satisfaction of having his cum cover his mate.

"Mm, good," John says, closing his eyes and sighing.

"Don't want to wash it off..." he sighs as Sherlock's finger traced circles in his come-covered skin. "But I'm going to make a mess if I rollover. And.." he wiggles his arse a bit, wincing as the toy shifts inside him and something slick shifts inside.

"Something tells me they'll be an even bigger mess when you pull that out."

“My research indicated that the feeling of being filled with cum, even fake cum, helped with cramping as well as sexual craving. So I found a model that would help with that.” Sherlock hums. “We could take you to the bath, that way any leaking would go down the drain when the dildo is released.”

"You just want to video me waddling to the bathroom with a cock up my arse." John grins, cracking an eye open and drinking in the sight of Sherlock smiling down at him.

"Don't deny it. I know you want to."

Sherlock chuckles and kisses John. “It’ll just give me more ideas for later if you have to waddle around with my cock inside you.” He smirks.

He gently bushes John's hair back. “I’ll carry you of course. Just don’t make a habit of it. Can’t let you get too domesticated of me. We still need that soldier edge for cases.”

John rolls his eyes, a gesture that is lost on Sherlock, who's already through the en-suit door to the bathroom. The sound of rushing water fills the room, and the scent of bath salts makes John shudder.

John tries to brush off Sherlock's offer, but strong arms scoop him up and carry him into the bathroom. He's gently placed in the tub. Warm water smelling of lavender and vanilla laps around his body.

Sherlock reaches an arm between John's legs and waits for John to nod. The knot is deflated, and the toy gently eased out of him.

John instantly misses the fullness. He whimpers slightly, but Sherlock is there, slipping into the water behind him.

His softening cock presses against the small of John's back as they lay there together in the warm.

When the tub threatens to overflow, John reaches up and turns the taps off with his feet.

"This is nice." He sighs, nuzzling the back of his head against Sherlock's neck.

“I will admit I thought of joining you the other day in the bath,” Sherlock says softly as he wraps his arms around John’s midsection.

John laughs and shakes his head. "I wanted to play with your hair... you sitting with your back against the tub. Those curls just... there."

He places his hands over Sherlock's and relaxes into the embrace.

"I didn't want to like you. You were so arrogant, still can be. I felt like a science experiment, between having to pretend we were in a relationship down to the way you seem to look into my soul when you look at me."

John's thumbs trace over the back of Sherlock's hands, the movement sluggish in the water.

"I thought any minute now, he's going to discover my secret. He's either going to pin me against a wall and bite me, or kick me out."

"Instead, you surprised me, you showed your true colours. Showed me the kind man you try so hard to hide."

Sherlock is quiet for a while. “It’s better if I’m brash and bold. It keeps people off-kilter. That way it’s easier to see what’s hidden when they’re thrown and defensive. Why do you think Donovan always tugs her skirt down to cover her knees when she sees upcoming? Covering up is always more obvious than not.” He snorts.

He nuzzles John’s hair, breathing in his scent. “I.. I probably should have figured honestly but I was too caught up in being amazed that you actually decided to stay. I gave it three days, a week tops. But you stayed. You yelled back at me when I shouted at you. You made endless cups of tea. And helped me solve cases, catch bad guys. Saved my life.” He says softly, nosing behind John’s ear.

"Course I stayed," John said as if that was answer enough.

"You gave me back a life full of adventure. After the army didn't want me anymore, I thought I was destined to have a life full of a forced bond, and a forced family."

John subconsciously runs a hand over his stomach and shudders. "Sherlock, how could I love my own children if they were forced on me. If I had no choice in having them? When I knew, if they presented as Omega's they'd be sold off after their first heat?"

He shakes his head firmly then sighs. "You saved my life... There's a reason I held on to my service gun."

Sherlock’s arms tighten around John at the admission. “You are your own person. You make your own choices. I’m just here to support you. Just like any couple.” He says softly.

“If we ever do have pups I won’t allow them to be sold off. They’ll stay with us until they go to university or whatever they choose. They’ll be taught exactly the same. No difference between alpha or omega or beta. They’ll each be given the same opportunities and support. We’ll make sure they can defend themself no matter their secondary sex. I will not have our pups sold off like cattle.”

"I'd like that..." John says then blinks, realizing how true his words were.

"Not now, but maybe in the future? Minds to teach, nurture, love? Almost sounds like a happy life."

The water starts to get cold, but instead of getting out John leans forward and pulls the plug, letting some of the water drains out. Once half of it is gone, he puts the plug back in and turns the water back on.

Sherlock reaches for a bathbomb, and they watch as it fizzes and turns the tub a foamy blue.

"Did you ever think you could have that? A happy life?"

“Never,” Sherlock says without hesitation. “And then came you..”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John REALLY likes baths.


	12. Paperwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft steps in to make sure the legal side is taken care of...

It takes two more days for John to finally feel normal again. He wakes that morning to find Sherlock already dressed and pacing the lounge, his mobile pressed to his ear.  Wrapping his dressing gown around him. John perks up his ears and listens to Sherlock's side of the conversation while turning the kettle on.

"No, Mycroft," and low growls are all John manages to hear. The conversation lasts until the kettle starts to boil, then Sherlock hangs up and lets out a frustrated growl. 

"Let me guess... he's sending a car to take us to the registry?" John says while pulling two mugs out of the cabinet.

“Yes,” Sherlock grumbles. “And he wants us to go out to my parent's house for a bond contract signing party this weekend.” He presses against John’s back in a strop, his lanky form heavy despite all his looks for malnourishment.

"Well, isn't that... nice?" John says, then shakes his head. "Nope, that doesn't sound right. That's not nice, that's torture. He's torturing us. Call him up and tell him to ship me back to Afghanistan. At least there the torture is expected." John chuckles, and when Sherlock's chest vibrates against his and a low rumbling laugh fills his ears (then his groin) he nearly drops the tea kettle. The sound sends desire coursing through him like wildfire. 

"Well, we can make the car waiting, and we can file for an extension if we need to. That should give us time to draft our own contract. Plus, there won't be a bond until my next heat. Which could be months away.” John pushes down the pang of want with a regretful sigh.

“He’s told Mummy.” Sherlock pouts. “His mouth is as big as the rest of him. He only tells her things about my life so he doesn’t have to tell her things about his. But he doesn’t have a life. Just ‘a small position in the government’.” He makes a gagging sound.

"I much prefer it when you gag on my cock." John deadpans, making his mate hum in satisfaction. Shifting below Sherlock's weight to reach for the teabags before continuing, "Then we go to your parents, and have the loudest sex we can imagine. Or just play a porno on full volume so they think it's us."

“Why can’t Mycroft just knock up some poor underling so mummy leaves me _alone_.” Sherlock gives a great big sigh.

John ignores Sherlock's strop. Instead, he turns around, nearly knocking over the steeping tea with his elbows and grins mischievously.

"Can I be a bossy arsehole to you in front of your parents? We can make them wonder if you've gone mad and have decided to attempt to bond with another Alpha."

“Oh  _ John _ you are a wonder.” Sherlock grins and kisses John deeply, pressing him back against the counter.

"That wasn't a no," John says in between kisses. "You realize if you don't say no, I'm going to strut in there like I own the place."  
  
“Do it. My father will think it’s hysterical.” Sherlock says with a laugh.

Placing his hands on Sherlock's hips he grins and leans up into the attention. For once, able to enjoy kissing without the pang of need pulling him down tho his most basic form.

"I don't care if the car is here now, I'm eating breakfast, and having a shower," John announces after a moment. Breaking from the seemingly endless waves of kisses he turns to place sugar in Sherlock's tea, and just milk in his.

"What breakfast food takes the longest to make?"

“A proper fry up. Eggs, bacon, sausage. The works.” Sherlock smirks, pulling the frying pan out and placing it on the cooktop. 

John manages to milk his time, making Mycroft's car wait nearly two full hours. When the clock announces it's just ten in the morning, he sighs and reaches for his coat.

"Shall we go sign my life away, figuratively speaking?"

“Mm, I suppose so. You could walk me around on a collar.” Sherlock wiggles his brows suggestively.

"As tempting as that is, let's not push our luck. Trying to draft our own contract is going to be uncommon enough as it is. I won’t be surprised if they try and fight us on it. If we go in disrespectfully they'll deny any requests." John stops halfway down the stairs and smirks, "But we can save the collar for your parents."

Sherlock snorts. “I suppose I’ll keep you around.” He teases as he follows John downstairs. Climbing into the back of the car he started and rolled his eyes. Not expecting to see his brother waiting for them in the backseat. “Mycroft.” He says cooly, as he sits. 

"Mind if we snog back here, Mycroft?" John asks, climbing in and clambering over Sherlock so he sat between the two brothers. He turns his back to Mycroft, pressing his arse against the man's thighs, and grabs Sherlock's face with both hands.

Sherlock, who'd been reaching for the door to close it, stops halfway to the handle and freezes for a moment. Then, when John's lips meet his he melts and fills the back seat of the car with a low growl. His scent grows stronger and overwhelms the sour stench of Mycroft.

Smirking, John settles back and says, "Better, now I can't smell his lemony arse."

Sherlock snickers and holds John close to himself.

Mycroft rolls his eyes. “Children.”

"If we're children, then what are you? A toddler in an overgrown suit?" John snarks back, feeling Sherlock's chest heave as he suppresses his laughter.  "Why are you even here? We're not signing anything today, just getting a draft form so we can come home and compose our contract."

“As I am the elder brother I have legal responsibility for Sherlock and therefore you both need my signature for the registration. Sherlock’s lucky he has me or else Mummy would have had to come down and do it.” Mycroft rolls his eyes.

"Ugh, you Alphas and your legal responsibilities. Always have to own someone," John groans, sticking out his tongue making a gagging motion with his finger. "When will you learn that people are people? No matter what their bodies or parts look like?"  He rolls his eyes and resists the urge to let out a giant fart. Perhaps beans on toast hadn't been his smartest idea to have with breakfast.

"There's no point in having this conversation with you, though. Men like you think that men like me are trophies, who should find it their privilege to be owned and used. After all, isn't it our _honour_ to provide Alphas like you children, to enrich your status in this world?"

“Mycroft likes to feel self-important because he hasn’t caved to Mummy’s begging to bond.” Sherlock hums.

“Dr. Watson, I have no care for what society thinks people are worth. I work within the confines of a crumbling system filled with idiots and imbeciles. If it made any difference to me the whole cast system would be done away with just to save me the paperwork. Do you know why this system was put into place? Omega’s wanted legal protection and alphas wanted to perpetuate status, on that count you are correct. But omega’s agreed to it because they were not allowed to work, to have jobs, to own land, or have any claim to their own offspring. Being married offered the opportunity to be bonded so someone who may care about them enough to give them the life they craved.” Mycroft sighs as he looks out the window.

“Your assumption however that only alphas benefit from this system is false. Secondary sex doesn’t matter. Do you know that some of the largest sex trafficking, excuse me, I mean match-making services, are run by omega’s because match-making is seen as feminine and omega work? They exercise the little bit of power they have over others of their kind. Before you talk to me as if you know every in and out of this system think of those who I have to work to protect from the deepest darkest rankest holes of our society. I care not whether you’re an omega or beta or alien for all that matter. As long as my brother stays clean and alive that is all the concern I have.” Mycroft gets out of the car when they arrive at the office.

"Huh," John says, watching as Mycroft steps out. He turns to Sherlock and whispers, "Who shoved a dildo up his arse."  However, even though his brief spat of snickers, he can't help but feel a tiny bit of respect towards Mycroft. His words, of course, were true. Ever Omega knew the rumors, knew about the trafficking. It was a ghost story told at night to scare Omega children into behaving. The big bad boogie man designed specifically for one gender.  Still, John didn't let it upset him. They, unfortunately, were not his problem. Him, a lonely Omega, albeit military trained, wouldn't stand a chance against the world's biggest trafficking ring.

"Right... Let's get this over with then," he says, sobering up and stamping down his desire to snark Mycroft Holmes to death.

When they arrive at their destination he follows Mycroft into the building, Sherlock on his heels. Mycroft's presence alone grants them a private waiting room, where a young Omega, no older than nineteen, offers them food and drinks. When the three of them decline, the Omega departs and leaves them alone to wait.

"Let's get one thing clear," John says in a low and dangerous tone, "If I'm signing anything today, I'm going to need to agree with every damned word written on that paper. No loopholes, no clauses, no surprises."

“I’ve made it very clear that you have the same rights and sovereignty as my brother. You’ve both made that clean.” Mycroft nods. “All we’re signing today is that you’re registering with my brother and intend to become his mate. That is all.”

"Mate..." John sighs and rests his head up against the wall. He could go into a tirade about that word, but he knows it's just the stress of the situation putting him on edge.

Sensing his mood, Sherlock reaches out and places a hand on John's knee. The contact is enough to calm the worst of John's anxiety, though his knee still giggles up in down with restless energy.

"Just passing legal rights from the military to Sherlock," he says out loud to no one in particular. "Probably not a terrible choice. At least this way if I get stabbed by a crazed lunatic on a case we don't have to wait for some General to come sign approval for medical aid."

Sherlock rubs John’s leg. “It’ll give you more rights as well.”

“Yes, you’ll be able to go out after dusk without a chaperone.” Mycroft rolls his eyes.

"Never listened to that one," John admits with a shrug. "But, I've done my best to pass for a Beta as often as I could."

After a few more minutes laps by, a door opens and an older Alpha walks in carrying a manila file folder. He gestures to the party and leads them into a small office. There are only two chairs, but neither Sherlock nor Mycroft object when John claims one of the chairs as his own.  John fights the urge to speak. While they are deciding his fate here today, he knows things will go a lot smoother for them if Sherlock explains their reason for being there.

“I’m here to register with my flatmate,” Sherlock says.

The officiate nods and pulls a few pages out of the folder. John's leg starts bouncing again as the weight of the situation settles over him. Sherlock sits beside him, his fingers brushing against John's arm where it lays on the armrest.

"Before you ask," John says, the words heavy and greasy on his tongue. "We're not bonding yet, we'll be waiting for my next heat. We're simply here to register, and transfer my legal rights from the military to Sherlock Holmes, the man I intend to be my Alpha."

The official pulls out a sheet, an official registration form for both of them to sign as well as a witness.  Sherlock reads it over and signs.  John accepts the paper and reads over the wording carefully. To his relief, it's all straightforward, no hidden meanings, no fancy wording. Just straightforward legal terms transferring his rights to Sherlock.  Gripping the pen far harder required, he signs his name, the nib pressing in hard, leaving an indent. On a separate form, he jots down the information of his CO, and is told that the office will take care of contacting the army on Sherlock's behalf.

Sherlock's nose twitches in annoyance, and in a cold voice, he corrects the man. "Not on my behalf, but on John's."

John preens a little bit, and puffs his chest out.  They're stuck in the office for a while longer, having been asked to fill out a bonding plan, Which neither of them had given much thought to. Mycroft steps out of the room, giving John and Sherlock a few minutes of privacy as they discuss what they wished to write. In the end, they leave the form as vague as possible. Simple copying John's words from earlier, that upon his next heat, they intended to bond. 

“I believe we’re finished here.” Mycroft drawls, having entered the room with the government official. He signs on the witness line, then hands the paper back for official recording. 

John stands first, and walks off out of the office without waiting for either Alpha with him to lead.  He gets out to the car and breathes a sigh of relief. For the second time in his life John has just signed his rights away. But, for the first time, he wasn't dreading an invisible threat, one that loomed over him with every breath he took.  Turning to Sherlock, when his Alpha catches up, he walks up to him and wraps his arms around Sherlock's back. "Thank you, for what you said in there."

Sherlock holds John close and scents him. “I’m sorry he was an ass. Mycroft is ripping him a new arsehole.” He snorts softly.

"God, I loathe that the thought that I'll have to show him my bond bite." John sighs and lets his Alpha mark him. Sherlock's scent soon washes away the other Alpha’s scent and it makes him feel better. Helps ground him.

"Alphas just don't like seeing an unbound Omega..." He glances over to the car, then looks up at Sherlock. "What are the chances we can just get a cab home? Or we could walk? I want fresh air, and to see the city again. I've been cooped up inside for too long."

“We can walk. Mycroft will have copies sent to the flat.” Sherlock takes John’s hand, leading him away from the building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor John :( Having to give up his basic rights. Breaks my heart a little. -Tindo
> 
> (Also, we have a bunch of chapters saved as drafts. I keep forgetting to edit the Chapter Publication Date, so I apologize if it doesn't trigger an email to those who have subscribed. We do post daily though, so please just check ao3 if you're looking for an update)


	13. Of Bees and Grapes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John take on a case just before bonding... Will they survive the tension?

Two months later Sherlock a letter from the gardener who tended to his great grandmother’s estate shows up on their front door Hand-delivered by a courier, who stood and waited for Sherlock to read it and give his response. Sherlock's grandmother had some of the most awarded gardens in the French countryside. Not only that but she had several colonies of bees that supported her garden and the local vineyards. Currently, both were being threatened. 

“John! We have to go to France! Start packing!” Sherlock says from the living room as he reads the letter. Someone had been poisoning his great-grandmother’s garden and the bees were dying in droves. Worse yet, it didn't seem to be limited to just his grandmother's hives and property. Before consulting John,  Sherlock buys them first-class flights for that night. The sooner he and John get to his grandmother's the sooner they could start working on the case. With any luck, no later than tomorrow morning. would be able to settle in and get working on the case first thing in the morning. 

After two days of investigating it becomes apparent that it wasn’t only his great grandmother’s garden that was being terrorized but the surrounding vineyards as well all at the expense of the local pollinators. If there was one way to piss off Sherlock Holmes it was the senseless murder of bees. Sherlock sits at the breakfast table on the morning of the second day, watching John eat as he goes over the facts of the case.

“We’ve ruled out rival vineyards and local exterminators.” He grumbles, irritated.

"How are the bees dying?" John asks, trying to shake to sleep from his groggy mind. "They're dying because their source of food is poisoned, right?"

Sherlock nods once and growls.

"How easy is it to produce the poison they're using? Need they be a chemist, or can your local run-of-the-mill druggy who's good at mixing make it?" Unsued to seeing Sherlock apply emotion to his cases, he's tempted to remind Sherlock to keep a level head. However, despite the angry growling and fretful hairpulling, he finds Sherlock's emotional side endearing. Plus, t here's something about the fire in Sherlock's eyes that makes John want to pull off every stitch of his clothing and kiss him better.

“Bees are delicate. Any run-of-the-mill pesticide can cause mass die-offs. That's why this is so frustrating. There are still too many variables.” Sherlock grumbles and crosses his arms. “We’ll have to go back to the vineyards and investigate again. I’ll have to look closer at the hives.”

"Alright, but I'm finishing my damned breakfast first," John says, pointing his fork across the table at his Alpha.

Sherlock just rolls his eyes but doesn't tell him to hurry up.  An hour later they're well on their way to the nearest vineyard. The overcast sky adds a gloomy feeling to the day. John finds himself focusing on Sherlock's scent in their rented car.  The rental company did a good enough job of erasing the scent of the Alpha who drove it last, but pungent notes of stale seawater still find their way into John's nostrils.

"Give me your scarf?" He asks, his stomach rolling. "God he smells like low tide and rotting sea creatures."

Sherlock takes off his scarf and hands it to John before unrolling the windows as he drove. “Smells like they drove this thing off a pier and dragged it out six months later.”

They finally arrive at the nearest vineyard. Going through the building they wave at the manager who waves them to the back where the rows and rows of grapes were.

Sherlock walks between the rows, inspecting them. Then he goes to the hives. Out of the original five, only one and a half were barely hanging on. He couldn’t see any damage to the hives themselves but there was a stain in the dirt.

Pressing Sherlock's scarf to his nose John silently follows Sherlock. He doesn't know what to look for but stays alert.  Standing back, mostly to give Sherlock space, he paces a wide circle around the hives, listening to Sherlock call out facts.  On his third loop around the hives a spot of yellow catches his eyes. Taking a handkerchief out of his pockets he bends down and lifts up a small yellow pin.

Only a little bit bigger than a large button, the pin is simple. It has a yellow background and "Free the bees'' written in black ink. Though, to his puzzlement, there's a circle with a red dash drawn with what appears to be a marker.

"Sherlock," he calls, taking care not to touch the pin. "I might have found something."

Sherlock goes to John immediately. “Save the bees?” He sounds confused. “Why cross it out?”

"Mmm..." John mumbles, sniffing the air as Sherlock gets close. "You smell nice."

He passes the pin over, then steps into Sherlock's space and begins nuzzling his face along Sherlock's chest, sticking his nose deep into Sherlock's armpit where his scent is stronger.  "I missed you, when you were over there. That's silly, isn't it? I could still see you." 

Sherlock wraps his arm around John as he looks at the pin. “Grandmama’s house smells old and musty, not like Baker Street that’s saturated in us.” He kisses John's head. “We need to talk to the manager and see if they know about the pin.”

John whimpers when Sherlock pulls away. His chest feels warm from their contact, though it quickly grows cold as Sherlock walks away, putting distance between them.  With a small growl, he chases after his Alpha and catches up to him, breathing a sigh of relief to have Sherlock and his comforting scent back by his side.

"Think the managers in on this? Or are you just hoping he'll recognize the pin?'

“Possibly. Let’s see if we can jog his memory. He told us that no one is allowed on the grounds that doesn’t come through the building and they have electric fencing but there are show prints in the dirt that don’t match the workers boots.” Sherlock wraps his arm around John’s waist and keeps him close.  “Marco!” Sherlock calls out. “Have you seen this before?” He asks the manager when he comes over, showing him the pin.

As John listens to the two men talk he becomes aware of a new feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.  Doing his best to both pay attention to Sherlock and the manager Marco, he almost doesn't realize it for what it is.  Desire. Not just the normal desire he'd grown accustomed to over the past few months of their relationship, but a deep seeded desire he could feel all the way down to his toes.  He wanted to claim Sherlock, he wanted to lick every scent gland and mark Sherlock as his. He wanted to come in his hand and smear his come over Sherlock's skin so every unbound Omega that passed Sherlock would know he was taken.  He begins humming the tune to Billy Idol's Cradle of Love. The words echoing throughout his mind, and seeming to vibrate across his soul.

_Yeah flesh for your romeo  
_ _ Ah yeah baby  
_ _ I hear you moan  
_ _It's easy, y'know how to, please me yeah_

Sherlock gives him a scathing look, but when their eyes meet understanding flashes between them.

"As you can see," Sherlock says to Marco while still looking at John, "John's heat is...he's going to be very heated," he corrects himself, "if we don't find these men."

"Yeah, I only start humming 90's rock music when I'm angry," John says, doing his best to keep a straight face, which isn't easy when Sherlock looks like he wants to find the nearest dark nook and tear John's clothes off.

However, Sherlock is drawn back to the case when Marco tells them about a group of young hippies who came by a few weeks ago. He kicked them out because they smelled like weed, (bad for a reputable business) and they kept asking if the wine the vineyard produced was with slave labor. He told them of course it wasn’t and that they needed to leave because they were causing a scene.

“Slave labor.” Sherlock mumbles curiously.

"Tell me you can solve this quickly," John hisses as they walk away, "I estimate we have a day and a half two at most, before my biology kicks in."

“We’ll go back to the estate and I’ll make a list of vineyards that haven’t been hit who boast about their own hives. We’ll have a stakeout at the most likely one and finish this tonight. Hopefully.” Sherlock nods.

John nods once and grimaces as he nears the car. "God, what did he do? Have sex in the backseat?"

Sherlock opens his mouth, about to answer but John sticks his finger out and says, "No. Nope I don't actually want to know."

The ride back to Sherlock's family estate is quiet. Sherlock thinks while he's driving, which John can't imagine is safe, but without a license there's little he can do.  When they pull up the gravel drive he says softly, half stating, half still expecting he needs Sherlock's permission. "Think I can get my license? When we get back to London?"

“Of course, John. It’ll be much more practical for you to drive so I can think. I’m surprised the military didn’t let you get one. Probably didn’t want you running away with all your newfound freedoms.” Sherlock rolls his eyes and gets out of the car.

"Oh I could drive. Military status trumps everything else. I've driven tanks, trucks, hummers... Even had a funny little golf cart to get around on base. But in the civilian world I need that pesky little licence."

The car comes to a stop and John is more than happy to step into the fresh air. The late afternoon sun feels warm on his face and he sighs. "Should have realized this was coming. Remember on the plane I said I could smell someone chewing gum? My senses are working overtime. I bet, if a bound Omega who isn't on the cusp of their heat, got close to the car all they'd smell is chemicals."

“It’s a month early. I thought we’d have time for this case. I’m sorry.” Sherlock says softly, feeling awful that he’s dragged John to another country to solve a case and now he’s going into heat away from their home.

"Yeah well, my system is out of whack," John falls into step behind Sherlock as they head into the large house.

"Kitchen?" He asks thinking that he can make an early dinner while Sherlock works out which vineyards need their surveillance.

“I should have accounted for that.” Sherlock sighs. “Yes you should eat.”

"So should you. We won't be eating much in a few days. We'll both need as many calories now as we can manage."

John doesn't leave room for Sherlock to argue. He quickly sets about making dinner, opting to cook a frozen pizza over something from scratch.  While waiting for the oven to preheat he begins going over a mental list of everything they'd need if he was going to have his heat here.  Taking stock of the fridge and its contents he begins a list.

_Water bottles  
_ _ Cheese  
_ _ Fruits  
_ _ Nuts  
_ _Cured meat_ s

Once he gets a list started it flows easily and it's taking up a full page in his notebook. Figuring he'd gotten the gist of it he pockets the notebook and turns to Sherlock.

"You said vineyards, plural. Makes sense if I take one, you take the other."

“Logically yes it makes sense but you’re also going into heat and I’m not sure I’m comfortable leaving you on your own.” Sherlock frowns, looking up which vineyards are most likely to be targeted next. 

"I have my gun," John shrugs as he puts the pizza into the oven. "Wouldn't be the first risky situation I've been in."

“Yes I know that but I’m also supposed to have your back,” Sherlock mumbles as he presses against John’s back, breathing him in.

"Mm, but I'm a big boy," John says, leaving back into Sherlock and resting his head against Sherlock's shoulder.

"If we want this over tonight we should split up. What's the distance between them? Can we stay in touch through walkie talkies?"

“The properties are neighboring but the hives are on opposite ends.” Sherlock wraps his arms around John, scenting him.

“I suppose we could. When we see something suspicious we could alert the other to come over for back up.” He says, still not liking the idea of leaving John.

"Relax, Sherlock," John says, turning around and falling into his Alpha's embrace. "We've done this loads of times. I dare say London is a bit more dangerous than a field full of grapes after nightfall."

Preening under Sherlock's attention, he forgets to set a timer for the pizza. Eventually, Sherlock pulls his lips away from John's neck and whispers in his ear,  "Ding." It sends shivers down John's spine, but he manages to pull away and reach for the potholders.   
  
Sherlock watches John take the pizza out and cut it into slices. “Fine but the minute you don’t feel right or you see something you tell me.”

"Superpower, remember?" He says, pointing to his nose once the hot pan is placed on the kitchen surface. "I'll be able to smell trouble coming at me, and can have you by my side in no time."

Unable to find a pizza cutter, John takes a large knife and cuts the pizza, grinning as he says, "Hell hath no fury like an Alpha's whose unbound mate is about to start his heat."

“Exactly,” Sherlock smirks, impressed with John’s cutting skills. “I don’t think that should be as arousing as it is.”

"Good, then have a slice."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we goooooo tomorrow's update starts a fun story plot!


	14. Stakeout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys stakeout to see who's been killing the bees...

They wait until dusk has settled around them before they leave. John double checks, then triple checks his gun, before sliding it into a holster he has under his jacket.  When Sherlock cocks an eyebrow at him, as if asking where on earth the holster had come from, John just shrugs.

"I like to be prepared. Should have seen Mycroft's men scrambling to get my gun on the plane. I nearly peed myself laughing. I figured, if I was going through the trouble to get this on board, I'd bring my full kit."

“I need to stop looking at you so closely. Everything you do turns me on.” Sherlock licks his lips as he looks John over. “You accounted for the time change and took your contraceptive, correct?”

"Mm." John nods while turning the volume on his mobile phone to vibrate only "Had to change the alarm on my mobile, but I've been careful. As long as you somehow get me to take it during my heat, there shouldn't be any major surprises in a few months."

“I’ll drug you for your own good.” Sherlock chuckles, making sure he has his tools of the trade.

"Wouldn't be the first time you've drugged me... But for my own good?" Laughing John slides into the car and groans as the scent of past drivers assaults his senses.

"So. Just to recap," he says, buckling himself in, "Hide, watch the hives. Alert you to anything suspicious. Keep my distance, and do not engage. I'll stand upwind of the hive, in case any of them are Alphas. Which should also aid me in

scenting them first, as long as they don't approach me from behind."  John pulls two walkie-talkies out of a bag by his feet and checks their batteries.  "Only use these for emergencies, keep the volume low, and try not to check in just to ask me how I'm doing. We have our designated check-in times, once an hour on the hour. If either of us is a minute late checking in, we call the local police."

“I love a military man.” Sherlock groans happily as he drives.

"Now who's the sex-happy one in this relationship." John chuckles and can't deny that he's thoroughly enjoying the slightly glazed look in Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock drops John off along the edge of one of the vineyards, as close to the hives as the car can go.  John climbs out, then walks around to Sherlock's door. He motions for Sherlock to lower the window, then leans in.

"Be safe, yeah?"

“You, too.” Sherlock pulls John in and kisses him before scenting him liberally. “Don’t do anything stupid. I’m just a call away.”

"Out of the two of us," John says, smirking and pulling away, but keeping his head low enough that he can see into the car, "Who's more likely to do something stupid?"

Sherlock looks like he wants to argue and then shuts his mouth with a click. “I have nothing to say on this matter.” He pouts.

"That's what I thought." John laughs softly, then taps the roof of the car. "Get going, you. Pick me up around 1. I'm not sitting out here all night."  He slings the duffel bag over his shoulder and turns without another word. Dressed in black, his slight frame disappears into the vines almost instantly.

Sherlock watches John go until he’s out of sight and then heads to his hiding spot. At nearly midnight Sherlock hears footsteps, at least three people. He gets in position, wanting to catch them in the act.  The evening passes slowly. Dark settles around John and the damp that comes with it.  He keeps his gun tucked inside his jacket, resting the urge to feel its comforting weight in his hands.

_It's probably just kids..._ he reminds himself. To pass the time he circles the hive every twenty minutes. Making sure to keep his feet silent, while staying alert for anyone or anything.  He startles a rabbit, but other than that nothing happens. Until midnight.

He was just about to pull out the walkie-talkie to contact Sherlock for their hourly check-in, when two bobbing circles of light break through the evening just south of his position.  Two minutes earlier than their agreed check-in time, he whispers into the radio

"Two lights, just out of earshot, over."

He slides his gun out of the holster and flicks off the safety. John Watson, the person, might not be in any real danger, but John Watson the Omega close to his first natural heat in years... might be.

“Shit.” Sherlock stills as all three heads whip around to his direction, John's voice was quiet but they still heard something.  One of them moves closer and Sherlock decides since his cover is blown he might as well use whatever little surprise he has left. He jumps out and knocks out the one closest to him.

“What the fuck!” Yelps one of the others. Sherlock goes after him next, his radio clatters to the ground in the struggle with the button pushed down by a rock.

“Bastard!” The third growled and picked up a plank of wood, cracking Sherlock over the head. The sound was sickening and Sherlock could feel his scalp split. He managed to knock out the second with blood in his eyes before the third could land another blow.

Wiping blood out of his face he could see the shirt the third was wearing. “Free the bees? What does that even mean? They are free.” He growls as they circle each other.

“They are not! Trapped in those boxes and worked like slaves! All their honey is taken and they’re left to starve!” He shouts back.

Sherlock stops, maybe it was the concussion or the blood loss. “Do you not know how beekeeping works?” He says, sounding utterly confused.

“THAT'S just a fancy name for slave master!” The third snaps back.

“Oh for Christ's sake.” Sherlock rubs a hand over his face. “You’re a bunch of animal rights activist idiots who don’t even under animal husbandry.” He sighs.

John's blood goes cold at the sounds coming from his radio. Voices had crackled through the speaker, voices that did not belong to Sherlock.  Then there had been the unmistakable sound of Sherlock in pain before the device went completely silent.  John knows better than to waste time calling Sherlock's name. Stuffing the radio into his pocket he withdraws his mobile phone and dials the local police, pleased with himself for putting the number in his contacts before they'd left the estate.  He relays what's going on in hushed tones, backing up so the people getting closer to him will have less opportunity to hear him.  Once he's done calmly relaying the information over to the dispatcher, he shoves his mobile into his back pocket and runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends.

_Think Watson_ he tells himself, willing the pang of panic to go away. _I didn't hear a gunshot, didn't hear a vehicle... But that was Sherlock's voice crying out in pain, I'm sure of it._

He cursed himself, wishing they were bonded so he could have a better sense of if Sherlock was alright.  Realizing that the lights had grown close enough that he could make out dim shapes moving towards him, he raises his lips in a snarl and stalks forward, gun in hand.  He takes them both by surprise, tackling one, a young beta woman to the ground. Without muttering an apology he slams the butt of the gun into the back of her head hard enough to knock her out, then turns the gun on the other, a young alpha barely old enough to need to shave.

"Sit. Hands on your head," he snarls, placing one foot on the throat of the young woman. "Or I'll crush her windpipe."  He has no intention of doing such a thing, but what the Alpha didn't know, wouldn't hurt him.

Sherlock grumbles as he ties the three idiots together and makes sure they can’t get away. He picks up the walkie and finds that it’s crushed. _John!_ His mind screams. If John had been calling for help he wouldn’t have been able to hear it.  Before Sherlock knows it he’s sprinting through the vineyard towards where he left John. His head is pounding and his vision is a little blurred, running mostly on his instincts alone.  Panic wraps around the base of John's skull, cold and slippery. Worried about his Alpha's fate, he almost misses the flick of anger in the young Alpha's eyes when he realizes he's being held at gunpoint by an Omega.  Channeling all of his anxiety into anger, John pulls the hammer back and cocks his head.

"Oh, I wouldn't move if I were you. I bet you that my bullet can move faster than you. Is that a bet you're willing to lose?"

The alpha growls something rude, but his string of derogatory remarks falls of deaf ears as John escapes into his mind where he's instantly welcomed by his own fear, wondering what happened to Sherlock.  Sirens carry across the wind. And while they're still far away, it reassures John that soon he'll be able to go and find Sherlock.  As they grow nearer, his stomach clenches, the first waves of craps rearing their ugly head.

Sherlock nearly trips through the clearing. “John!” He nearly tackles his omega, checking him over to any injuries. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? Did they touch you? Are you okay?” He rattles off questions, not seeing any injuries on John and he doesn’t smell hurt.

John struggles to maintain his balance, and his gun arm, while Sherlock feels him up.  He lets his Alpha check him over, knowing that Sherlock needs it as much as he does. He doesn't dare take his eyes off the young Alpha, but he sees something dark and shiny in the moonlight on the side of Sherlock's face and he can smell blood.

"Fine, love," John says softly, his foot slipping and pressing down a little too hard into the beta's throat. He corrects himself, and winces, knowing she'll have a foot-shaped bruise in the morning.

"If you don't mind though, I'm crushing this poor girl's throat. Mind getting the cuffs out of my back and taking care of this young prick while I make sure I haven't crushed her windpipe."  He risks one quick glance at Sherlock and growls, "Then I'll be taking a look at you."

Sherlock nods and gets the cuffs for the young alpha. He forces him down face-first into the dirt when he tries the struggle. “This will hurt you way more than it will hurt me. I’m concussed, bleeding, and you threatened my omega. I could kill you and no jury would convict me.” He hisses.

John feels his face heat at Sherlock's words. He nearly forgets why he was bent over the female beta as a desire to tackle Sherlock to the ground and have him then and there threatens to override his logical side.  _Down, Lizard brain_ he tells himself, quickly walking Sherlock through the events as the sirens got close enough that their blue flashing lights cast strange shadows over the vineyard.  The beta shows no sign of waking, so John motions to Sherlock once he's done fighting with the struggling man, and points to the ground.

"Sit." He says, not caring one once if Sherlock's posh trousers get ruined by dirt. When Sherlock is sat on the ground he kneels in front of him and pulls his mobile out of his pocket.

Using the flashlight app, he holds the light up to Sherlock's face. He checks Sherlock's eyes for response time, and makes a satisfied grunt, then tilts Sherlock's head to the side.  There's a large bump, and in the center a small split where something blunt had made contact with Sherlock's temple. Digging through his bag he pulls out a small medical kit and a water bottle.  By the time he's done cleaning the wound, voices can be heard making their way towards them.

"Not deep, won't need stitches," John says softly, dabbing some ointment on the gash. "But I'll need to clean and bandage it properly once we're back. I need more light to make sure I've gotten any foreign material out of the wound."

“Alright.” Sherlock nods and stands as the police approach them. He tells them the owners had hired him and John against vandals and details what happened. He tells them where to find the others who should all still be tied together.

After explaining again and again and finally signing statements they’re freed to go. “You want to drive or me?” Sherlock asks when they get back to the car.

"No way in hell I'm letting you drive," John says, holding out his hand for the keys.

“That’s what I thought.” Sherlock passes over the keys. “Don’t go too fast. I may vomit.”

"Then you can vomit out the window, please, and thank you," John says, tossing his bag into the back seat and sliding in behind the wheel.  Thinking fast, he gets out again, reaches into the backseat and dumps the contents of his bag on the floor, then passes Sherlock the bag.

"Better than nothing," he says softly as he got back in and started the car.   
  
Taking care to avoid the worst of the ruts in the dirt road out of the vineyard, he pulls out onto the main road.  He drives a little faster than the speed limit, but slows down around corners, keeping his eye on Sherlock the whole time.  When Sherlock starts to nod off, he reaches over with one hand and shakes his shoulder.

"Nope, no sleeping. Not until I have a proper look at you. Stay awake for me, Sherlock."

Sherlock grumbles and does his best to stay awake. “I was worried..”

"And you think I wasn't?" John snaps back, then sighs, "I'm not mad at you. Mad at them, for making me think something had happened to you. Sod the bees, sod their movement... All I care about is you. If something had happened..."  He trails off, unwilling to let himself finish that thought.

“Apparently I’m extremely hard-headed.” Sherlock says softly and rests his hand on John’s thigh.

"Git," John says fondly, taking his hand off the gearshift for a moment to squeeze Sherlock's hand.  "Scaring me into an early heat... I swear you did it on purpose."

“I would have rather had more time to gather supplies and not have a head wound.” Sherlock snorts. “How are you feeling?”

"Fine..." John says even as a wave of cramps makes him wince. "I've probably got twelve hours or so... long enough for us to catch a nap, then I can send you off to the shops."

The estate looms in the distance and John breathes a sigh of relief when the gate automatically closes behind them.  He pulls the car right up to the door and turns it off.  He leaves everything in the car, except his gun, then heads over to Sherlock's side and offers to help him inside.  Sherlock lets John lead him to the bathroom where the lights were the brightest so John can inspect his head. “It was a piece of wood.” He says, knowing John’s thinking what hit him.

"Mm, I'll check it for splinters," John says as he gets what he needs. He washes his hands, then puts gloves on. "Tilt your head to the light for me?"

John takes his time, picking out small pieces of dirt and wood, then washing the wound clean.

"It really isn't as bad as it looks." He says happily, putting more ointment on it and gliding his finger along the undamaged skin below the wound.

"I can bandage it if you'd like, but it's an awkward place, and the bandage will probably just slide off while you sleep. As long as we keep it clean, and watch it for infection, I think it's alright like this. But, your call."

“It’s fine. We’ll just leave it. It’s stopped bleeding so that’s a plus.” Sherlock hums, liking the feeling of John taking care of him. He rests his hands on John’s hips and presses his face to John’s chest, breathing him in.

"Off to bed with you, then... I don't think there's much risk of a seizure, but I'll stay up for a little while and watch you."

Sherlock starts to complain but John cuts him off with a shake of his head.

"Sherlock, I'm going to need you rested tomorrow, and fed. I don't think you understand how bloody exhausting it is to have sex for two or more days in a row. Non fucking stop. If you think your body hurts now, from that crack on your head... god you're in for something else."

“Fine.” Sherlock sighs and starts to strip off his dirty bloody clothes. “Only because you asked so nicely.” He teases.

"Humph," John grunts, shooing Sherlock out of the bathroom with a smile.

He slips into the kitchen and gets a glass of water, then detours back into the bathroom where he pops two painkillers out of their packaging.

"You'll be taking these, while I take my _no have babies_ pill," he says, passing the tablets and the water over to Sherlock, who was in bed, though he was sitting up.

Sherlock swallows the pain medicine John hands him. “Hopefully they kick in soon. I have a splitting headache.” He jokes.

"Ha.. ha.." John says in a monotone. "If I had a quid for every time someone said that to me, we could retire on our own private island."

Still he smiles, and sits on the edge of the bed, brushing a few stray curls from Sherlock's forehead. While his intention is mainly of comfort, he can't help but watch Sherlock's eyes for any sign of something worse happening.

However, the pupils don't dilate, and his gaze remains clear and focused. After a few moments, John leans over and flicks off the lamp.

"I'll be back in a few... Need a shower." He says, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Sherlock's uninjured forehead.

Sherlock hums softly, leaning into the contact. He’s still holding on to John when John tries to pull away.

"Oi, Alpha..." John sighs, leaning over Sherlock and nuzzling their noses together. "Let me go so I don't stink like Seawater Alpha and that young pup when you finally bond me."

Sherlock makes a face and finally lets John go. “Infantile little shit he was. Surprised he knew where to find his cock let alone use it.” He grumbles.

"I mean, he was with a beta..." John calls as he finally breaks free of Sherlock's grip and heads back into the bathroom.  "You can't tell me you didn't smell his spunk all over her?"  John leaves the door open and he begins to strip out of his dirty clothes.  "Might know how to use it, but not well enough to please an Omega."

A soft chuckle reaches John's ears. It creates a pool of desire deep within John and he wonders if his estimate of twelve hours was correct.

"What are the chances we can get some supplies dropped off? I already have a list." He asks loudly as he steps into the shower.

“I’ll have someone deliver whatever we need. I’m not leaving you again.” Sherlock settles against the pillows.

John showers quickly, but takes care to wash every inch of his body, washing off all forging scents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, Important note so please give this one a read
> 
> Accident and I updated the tags to reflect on future chatpers. There will be some non-con mentioned (thoughthe acts will never be described) We completely understand that non-con is tough for people, so we REALLY wanted to give everyone a warning. If it isn't your cup of tea that is 100% okay, and we love you dearly. Please stop reading after a certain doctor's appointment that will be in about 10 or so chapters. You can always find me on twitter (https://twitter.com/Tindo_on_AO3) and ask me to let you know when the chapter that mentions Noncon pops up, and when its over. I will be happy to fill you in on the cliff notes. 
> 
> please go ahead and give the new tags a read just so you are aware. I'll to be better at editing them as well!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment and let us know what you think! More to come!


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